


Titanium Brand

by MapleMooseMuffin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: An actual moral question this fic asks, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Is it cheating if you're on a break?, Light Angst, Modern AU, Multi, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, failing marriage, infidelity technically?, mature in that they are all adults with real jobs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-30 23:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleMooseMuffin/pseuds/MapleMooseMuffin
Summary: Caught in a relationship purgatory, Shiro finds that while absence makes the heart grow fonder, it certainly doesn’t fix any of its problems. Stumbling upon Keith in a bar on a Wednesday night is like tugging on a loose thread of a worn-out sweater, and soon everything begins to unravel.[In which Shiro is married, but things are failing, and Keith is unwittingly the other woman.]--An impulse to kiss him flies through Shiro’s mind. It’s shot down just as quickly as it showed up, but it leaves a matter-of-fact affection in its wake for Shiro to deal with. // Shiro slides closer, immediately moving to wrap his arm around her shoulders. But Allura pulls away with a near flinch, shaking her head and motioning for him to keep his distance. // "Do you think that… maybe the reason she suggested you guys take some space apart was for your sake?” // Keith comes back to settle in his seat and takes Shiro's hand. "What were you going to say?"





	1. Blaytz's

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't worked on a multi-chapter piece in years, so here's hoping this works out. I've put a lot of planning into this one. That said, I am about to face some big life changes, so for now let's set a tentative updating schedule of once a month. If I decide later I can handle once every two weeks, I'll let you know.
> 
> This fic has been hovering around in my space for four or five months now, so it's about time to get it out here. I'm anticipating around 10 chapters, but we'll see. This chapter is unbeta'd still because my beta's are busy people. Good luck to you!
> 
> Enjoy~

            It’s the personnel meeting, added onto the stress of a Wednesday and an unappealing promise of microwaved diner, that has Shiro finally stepping into Blaytz’s around six. The bar was well received by customers in their reviews online, and sometimes a beer at a public counter is better than a beer on the couch at home. Besides, it’s along the way of his usual walk home from the office. He might as well stop in at least once.

            The bar is warmly lit inside, orange and brown hues making up for the crisp autumn wind beyond the door. The room smells a bit sweet, and hearty, like the dish of nuts Shiro sees when he takes a stool. The bartender is a tall, wide set man with a friendly smile. He sets his hands on the counter and leans forward, saying, “Hey there, welcome to Blaytz’s. What’ll it be?” and nods with a “Sure thing,” when Shiro asks for a beer.

            There’s a hockey game on the small flat screen over the bar corner. That’s interesting – Shiro’d have expected baseball or football in a place like this, considering the crowd and the subtle collection of various sports paraphernalia mixed in amongst the brand name advertisements. Hockey seems to be one of the less followed sports, almost as much so as soccer, and seeing it on in a bar is a surprise, but to be honest, Shiro appreciates it.

            The bartender sets his bottle down on the counter with a muted thump and Shiro thanks him. There’s a crack as someone starts up a game of pool, and the background din of a radio set to classic rock.

            It’s nice here, Shiro decides as he takes a sip and starts to people-watch. There’s a couple a few seats down the bar – or maybe they’re not a couple yet. It’s clear the woman is flirting, though, with the way she runs her finger along the rim of her glass. Whatever it is, it leaves a little melancholy taste at the back of Shiro’s tongue, like a tiny piece of licorice, sticky, bitter, and difficult to swallow. He runs a finger through the condensation pooling around the base of his bottle and averts his gaze.

            A few young men – maybe college age – are crowded in a booth, talking excitedly and laughing at some story. The way the tallest of them waves his hands as he speaks reminds Shiro of Matt. He smiles and makes a mental note to text him later. His birthday is coming up, after all.

            There’s a blare of a horn and a curse from below the tv. Shiro turns to see the instant replay of the puck being shot right between the legs of the Lions’ goalie, much to the dismay of the crowd. Even Shiro has to groan at how easy the goal was made.

            “Is he even trying?” he asks.

            “Right?!”

            The guy sitting a stool away, beneath the flat screen, heard him.

            “They should pull him out of the game already,” the man says. He doesn’t sound angry so much as frustrated as he tosses dark bangs out of his eyes and frowns over his glass. The pair of ice cubes rattle a bit as he drinks.

            Shiro takes up the loose thread of conversation. “Is that why we’re down three points?”

            The screen cuts to the team, showing various players scowling in the general direction of their goal. One of them throws down his gloves, mouth moving rapidly around what are probably curses. The man by the tv grunts.

            “That and our shit offence. I mean, did you see Williams space out first quarter? He had a perfect shot!”

            Shiro shakes his head, turning his full attention to the other man as the game goes to commercial. “I’m afraid I missed it. I’m sort of a casual fan, anyway.”

            He somewhat expects the man to scoff at him and turn his attention elsewhere, which would be a shame, really, because Shiro could probably use the company. But instead he simply nods in a way that says ‘fair enough’, and gives Shiro a long, quiet look. It’s a passive thing that looks a bit like judgement, but Shiro is pretty sure it’s simple observation. At least, he hopes that’s the case.

            So long as they’re being open about it, Shiro watches the man right back. He’s got pale fingers curled loose around his glass, made paler in contrast with the fingerless leather gloves he’s still wearing, despite the comfortable warmth of the bar. That combined with the leather riding jacket has Shiro guessing one of the bikes outside probably belongs to him. It’s about what he’d expected to find in terms of people in a bar, although this guy looks a bit young to be the stereotypical biker. His eyes are a pretty blue; wide and absorbent as he stares, like he might learn something if he looks at the pressed seams of Shiro’s suit jacket for long enough. It’s an intimidating gaze, although Shiro gets the feeling it isn’t meant to be.

            “I’m Keith,” he says, slicing through their private silence. Shiro shifts to offer his left hand in an automated response the office has drilled into him.

            “Shiro.”

            Keith takes his hand in his left and gives a firm shake. “A lefty, huh?”

            Shiro hadn’t realized. He chuckles and pulls back, rubs at the back of his neck. “In a way.” He rolls his right shoulder away and runs a finger back through the condensation ring on the counter.

            Keith stares again, this time just holding his gaze. He looks like he’s trying to decide something – or decipher the meaning in Shiro’s awkward answer. Then he glances back to the game, watching as players gather around for the ref to drop the puck. Shiro feels an uncomfortable mix of anxiety and embarrassment. Maybe coming out here was a bad idea. It’s been so long since he came out on his own that he’d underestimated his baggage, and the lingering motley crew of issues that trail behind him like chains; constant, noisy reminders of the past.

            That trail of thought is starting to border on morbid, so Shiro takes a long drink from his bottle and tries to focus on the game instead. He came here to get away from feeling sorry for himself. He’s not about to let a spiraling anxious thought ruin that.

            The bartender swings by to offer refills, but Shiro shakes his head. Keith does the same, saying, “You know me, Blaytz, I still have to drive home.”

            “Someday you’ll stay for more than one drink, kid. I was sort of hoping it’d be today, since you made a new friend.”

            Shiro raises an eyebrow at the hand that’s swept in his direction.

            Blaytz laughs. “I’ve never heard him say more than two words to a person around here, and usually they’re ‘no’ and ‘thanks’.”

            Keith makes a face at that, which fills Blaytz with a deep, echoing laugh. The bartender walks away, still rumbling with humor, to serve the flirting pair down the line.

            Shiro casts a curious glance at Keith from the corner of his eye. He’s still scowling after Blaytz, but there’s an unmistakable fondness in his eyes. Shiro would be willing to bet that Keith’s two-word limit doesn’t apply to the bartender.

            Keith catches his eye as Shiro turns to him and pauses, his hand hovering with the last of his drink suspended over the bar. Shiro’s mind goes blank, and he simply stares, not feeling a compulsion to look away, but not certain what Keith thinks of being stared at, either. There’s a long drawn out moment between them. The song on the radio ends. Another pool ball cracks against the bunch across the room, the sound loud in the gap between music. Neither Keith nor Shiro blinks, despite the stray strand of hair sweeping close to Keith’s eyes. Their blue is a quiet kind of blue, a few steps away from being soft grey like Shiro’s, and accented by thick lashes. Across the room, the college kids crack up at another joke.

            Shiro blinks. The motion brings back enough presence of thought for him to reach for his own drink and slowly raise the beer. He lifts his eyebrows and tilts the bottle in a toast. The corner of Keith’s mouth quirks, and he tilts his own glass to return the gesture. Then they drink, finally breaking eye contact. Shiro’s beer is more than halfway gone when he sets it down, while Keith taps an empty glass onto the counter. The pair of ice cubes rattle.

            The goal post alarm blares out again, announcing that Williams has finally made a goal. Shiro sighs in relief. The chances of them winning this game after that lead are low, but at least the Lions are still putting up a fight.

            “Finally,” Keith huffs, and Shiro smiles.

            “I take it you’re a devoted fan.” It’s a weak attempt at keeping a conversation going, but Shiro’s realizing now that he was wrong to think drinking alone in public is somehow better than drinking alone at home. He’d rather struggle through a forced conversation than fall back into silence.

            Keith smiles at him, though, something small and rueful that says Shiro’s hit on a familiar topic for him.

            “I followed it more in high school,” Keith admits. “Back when we hung out every weekend.”

            Shiro tilts his head, offering a curious smile to Keith’s sheepish one. “Old friends?”

            Keith nods. “Yeah – I don’t see them as much anymore. One’s in school, the others have jobs. You know how it goes.” He looks uncomfortable, shifting his weight and his gaze, like a person bracing themselves for a reprimand.

            “I do,” Shiro tries to reassure him. Keith watches him with a guarded expression. “I don’t remember the last time I saw my college friends, except for one who lives around here. But we’re both too busy to do much these days.”

            “You must be important,” Keith mumbles. Shiro raises an eyebrow.

            “What do you mean?”

            Keith looks up, seeming startled. Shiro gets the belated impression that he wasn’t meant to hear that comment. His lip quirks.

            “You, work in an office,” Keith flounders, “and you’re busy. So. I guess you….” He trails off, but Shiro can hear the unsaid ‘have a good job’ lingering there. It isn’t strictly socially acceptable to ask a stranger that, but Shiro isn’t offended. He chuckles softly, and watches Keith flush. It’s endearing.

            “Yeah. I’m a manager in HR. I set up interviews and give out tasks, assign projects and all that. It’s my job to make sure everyone’s on the same page.”

            Keith nods, tapping fingers against the rim of his empty glass. The flirting woman behind Shiro giggles as Keith opens his mouth to say, “You’re a people person.”

            Shiro smiles. “I _was_ elected most likely to lead in high school.”

            “I was elected most likely to get arrested.” The disappointed monotone in which Keith says it, along with the cute little downturn of the corner of his mouth, has Shiro cracking up. He tries to hold his laughter back, but it breaks through in a snort, and then it’s all tumbling out of his mouth. Keith’s unhappy expression twists into a full-fledged frown, and he seems offended. Shiro takes a moment to catch his breath.

            “It was my friends’ fault,” Keith grumbles. Shiro believes him. “They started the nomination, and then Lance talked half the class into voting me for it.”

            Shiro winces in playful sympathy. “Charismatic friends are dangerous forces,” he agrees. If he had a dime for every time Matt had gotten him into trouble with that fast mouth of his, he’d certainly be several dollars richer.

            Keith snorts and nods in agreement. “Sounds like you’d know.”

            “Never trust an engineering student,” Shiro says. He takes a drink as Keith laughs at his suffering, and has to smile as he sets the empty bottle down. Shiro leans against the bar and turns himself toward the other to ask, “So what do you do?”

            Keith raises an eyebrow and the corner of his smile. It’s a handsome, roguish look, under his silky bangs, and it catches Shiro off guard. It’s been a while since he’s been this attracted to a complete stranger. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

            “If you’re thinking it’s something wild, I’ll stop you right there,” Keith says. He looks amused, and teasing, with a light in his eyes that speaks of good natured mischief. “I work at a gym. I teach self-defense.”

            If Shiro’s being honest, that _is_ wild, compared to his desk job at least. It must show on his face, because Keith laughs.

            “It’s not as anarchistic as you were expecting,” he says. He shrugs and taps the pads of his fingers against his empty glass. “I like it, though.”

            “I think you’re doing a noble service,” Shiro blurts out. Keith’s brow drops, confused but not unwelcoming, and Shiro hopes he can pass off the faint warmth he feels in his cheeks as coming from the bar light above their heads. He swallows but presses on to save himself. “I think it’s great you’re teaching people – you’re giving them power, you know? And that probably makes them feel more confident, and safe.”

            Keith stares, and Shiro shifts, suddenly uncomfortable on the wooden stool. He wants to laugh, a nervous habit, but his breath is caught in his throat, trapped there by the foot in his mouth.

            Keith blinks after a beat, then looks away, down at his hands and the glass of slowly melting cubes. Shiro resists the urge to bite his lip. His mind races for something else to say, to gloss over this, but he can’t seem to align the right words.

            “I guess you’re right,” Keith says, softly. Shiro’s thoughts stutter. Keith’s tone is almost musing, but it doesn’t sound like he’s reached a new perspective. Rather, it’s as though he’s never heard those words come from someone else before. He shrugs and traces the rim of his glass for a pause, then raises his head to look back at Shiro.

            Blaytz returns before Keith can share his thoughts.

            “Sure I can’t tempt you?” the large man asks, taking Keith’s glass and tilting it his way to make his point. Keith looks back at him and smiles, rueful but easy.

            “Nah, I should be heading home. I’m safe enough to ride, now.”

            Shiro watches him cross his arms, tugging the jacket’s sleeves. Blaytz makes a show of being disappointed, then turns to catch Shiro’s eye.

            “How about you, pal? Another beer?”

            Shiro glances at Keith, then shakes his head. “No, I should be heading home soon, too. I’ve got work in the morning.”

            “Business man,” Keith adds in, though whether it’s for Blaytz’s information or simply a playful jab at Shiro, Shiro can’t tell. He laughs, sheepish, all the same.

            “Guilty as charged.”

            Keith stands from his stool and zips up his jacket. “See you tomorrow,” he nods to Blaytz, setting a bill on the counter. Blaytz gives him a short wave.

            “Drive safe.” Keith nods and takes his leave. Blaytz turns back to Shiro. “You leaving for good? Or will I be learning your name soon, too?”

            Shiro glances back at the door as he fishes his wallet out of his pants. He can feel the tiny ember of warmth that’s ignited in the wake of making a new friend, flickering in his chest.

            “It’s Shiro,” he says as his hand closes on the leather folds. “And yeah, I’ll probably be around.” He turns to Blaytz and pays for his beer. “This bar is actually on my walk home.”

            Blaytz gives him a knowing look as he takes the bill. He nods and smirks, saying, “I’ll see you around.” Shiro waves to him as he heads for the door.

 

            The house is dark when Shiro comes in, his keys jangling in hand. The click and rustle of metal on metal sounds disrespectfully loud in the quiet air of the living room. In the kitchen, the fridge softly hums. Shiro closes the door as gently as he can manage.

            There is no light coming from under the door to their bedroom, so Allura must be asleep. Shiro toes off his shoes by the closet and moves to hang up his coat. Allura’s neat white jacket is already hung. He’s careful not to catch the sleeve in the door as he pulls it shut.

            The kitchen light seems too bright for the quiet of the house, so Shiro opts for the one above the stove, instead. It’s all he really needs, anyway, in conjunction with the light in the fridge. There isn’t much he’s confident in cooking, so the prepackaged tv dinner is all he has planned for tonight. The shred of the plastic film echoes off the tiles, but it’s the high pitch shriek of the microwave’s buttons that have Shiro wincing and glancing over his shoulder.

            Allura is not a light sleeper, necessarily. A small amount of ambient noise generally leaves her undisturbed, especially after a long and harrowing shift. But the darkness of the night and the stillness of their home amplifies all the subtle sounds of life, and Shiro feels he might as well be slamming pots and pans together for all the noise he’s made. He stops the microwave a second short to prevent further disrupting the quiet.

            The plastic tray is hot when he pulls it out and quickly carries it to the living room, but he soon finds that the center of his meal is still cold. Shiro sighs on the couch, half eaten meal laid out on the coffee table, and debates heating it up again. The production of getting up and setting off another round of shrill beeps just doesn’t feel worth it, so he eats around the undercooked area and leaves it at that. The heater clicks on as Shiro finishes his meal in the semi-darkness. He wonders then what Allura ate, if she ate at all.

            It’s been a month, more or less, since they stopped sharing meals. Officially, at least. Shiro washes his only dish – the fork – and sets it beside a pan on the drying rack. She must have made something, then. He’s a little bit surprised. After a long shift at the hospital, cooking would be the last thing he’d want to do, but then maybe she was just sick of all the fast food.

            Or maybe she was leaving the tv trays for him.

            The idea of Allura, despite everything else, remembering his lack of skill and making certain he’d have something easy to eat tightens Shiro’s chest. It’s such a casual gesture, the kind that takes little conscious thought but plenty of subconscious consideration. Shiro feels the swell of grateful endearment in his heart as more of a taunting injury than anything else, given their current status.

            The fridge finishes its process and falls silent. The house feels ten times larger without that background hum, and the click of the stove light is harsh against his ears when he turns it off. He stands there in the dark for a long moment, the ticking of the analog clock now an audible rhythm.

            He can see the time display on the cable box from the false doorway of their kitchen. It’s barely nine pm, but he’s suddenly feeling heavy and exhausted. Burnt out from the day’s events, from the third reminder this month he’s had to make about dress code violations, and the insistence of the new secretary that he color code his files for her, despite her failure to explain the code. Weary from the flirting of the newest intern, and emotionally drained from the stress of home.

            Matt is always preaching about self-care to him, so Shiro tries not to feel like he’s simply giving up as he crosses the living room and walks down the hall. Their spare bed is already made up; has been for over a month. By now it feels like his own.

 

            In the morning he wakes up well before his alarm and takes his time getting out of bed. All the same, his shower is quick, and then he’s dressed, his arm in place, and in the kitchen, tending to some scrambled eggs. This, at least, he’s mastered. Breakfast is finished and on two plates without incident. Shiro settles the second plate on the stove top so that the light might keep it warm. Part of him knows Allura won’t be up in time to join him at the table, but some tiny piece of him still wants to hope.

            He keeps the news turned low as he eats. In the early morning light, the sounds don’t feel nearly as obtrusive as they did at night, and Shiro watches with much less tension than he’d had the night before. Maybe the good night’s rest has staved off the mounting stress, has given him the chance to re-center himself. Or perhaps it’s easier to feel lonely in the dark than by the light of day, when people are all around and going about their business. He’s not sure. But the weather forecast for the day looks good, so Shiro takes the chance to believe that today will be a better day than yesterday was.

            As he washes his dishes and puts away the ones that were left to dry, Shiro finds himself thinking that at the very least, if the day goes poorly, he can stop by Blaytz’s bar to unwind.

            The thought catches him off guard. He frowns, pulling down a travel mug, and slowly flips the switch to activate the coffee machine. His goal in going to the bar yesterday was not to develop a dependency on it for stress relief. Alcoholism won’t fix his marriage any more than this break has. But that isn’t it, Shiro tells himself. He had one drink, and it wasn’t the focal point of the evening. Talking with Blaytz and Keith had been fun, distracting. A welcome change to the hefty loneliness that had settled down over him like a blanket of snow overnight, sudden yet also gradual, and all encompassing. He _has_ needed companionship.

            As the machine finishes brewing, Shiro resolves to meet up with Matt again soon. He takes the pot of coffee and fills his travel mug, making sure to leave enough behind for Allura once she wakes up.


	2. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the weeks roll on with no sign of an end to the break, Matt worries about Shiro’s lack of social companionship. Shiro finds it hard to take his advice to heart when he’d rather just keep things as they are, or as they were, but luckily, he isn’t the only one who needs a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! A month is a long wait, I know, so if you're here for the update, thank you for your patience! I'm figuring out how the Real Adult™ world works right now, so updates will have to be slow until I get settled in. For now, let's say the first Friday of every month will have an update.
> 
> This chapter's a bit longer than the last one, fair warning. Thanks to finals and all of that nonsense, this chapter is also unbeta'd. Let me know if you spot any mistakes.
> 
> As a side note, I don't know a damn thing about motorcycles, so please bear with me, hahaha.
> 
> Enjoy~

            Shiro shifts to make way for Matt and leans back into his couch as the other squeezes his way between Shiro’s legs and the coffee table, holding two bottles overhead.

            “Okay, so I know last time you turned down the peanut butter and jelly vodka, and I hear you, that was a bad idea.” Matt shuffles his feet and sets the bottles down on the table in front of them. “But listen: alcoholic root beer.”

            He sits down with a heavy _flumpf_ of the cushions, socked feet waving up to tap the table leg. He rolls his head on his shoulder toward Shiro and heaves a relieved sigh. Shiro grins, leaning forward.

            “Alright, I’ll bite.” He reaches for the bottle and turns it in hand to read the label. It’s not as flashy as the usual novelty brands; with its golden colored script and little message from the company, it actually looks more like it’s from an independent brewer or a specialty brand for a select group of patrons, so he guesses it won’t be that bad. He twists the cap off and peers into the bottle, debating for a moment. Then he turns to Matt.

            “If it’s bad, it’s your fault,” he warns playfully, then takes a sip. It’s not terrible. It’s not life changing but it’s certainly drinkable. Matt grins when Shiro offers him no complaints.

            “Lady doth protest too much,” he says. Shiro nods and sets the bottle back down.

            “Alright, you got me. Looks like you actually found a good one this time.”

            “This time,” Matt scoffs, but his grin says he knows full well that his choices are usually amiss. “What do you wanna watch, jerk?”

            “You’re the one who invited me over,” Shiro says as Matt flips to the right channel and opens Netflix. “I thought you had something planned.”

            Matt just shrugs and scrolls past recommendations. Shiro snorts when a third of it is anime.

            “I dunno, I just wanted to hang out. We’re way too busy.” He scrolls down to some horror films and hovers, thinking. “Is today a bad day for these?” he asks, voice dropping to a softer tone as he turns to face Shiro. Shiro grimaces and nods.

            “Yeah, let’s not.”

            Matt nods and skips the violent films. After a moment of scrolling, they enter into cartoon territory.

            “How’s work been going?” Shiro asks. He watches colorful animated covers flick by; Disney movies, Nick Jr. shows, the occasional independent film. Matt grins, wide and smug.

            “I would tell you,” he says slowly, drawing out the ‘would’ as through it greatly pains him not to. Shiro’s heard this before, though, and knows better. “ _But_ ,” Matt sighs, “then I’d have to kill you.” He shrugs, eyes regretful in spite of his grin. Shiro rolls his eyes, smiling.

            “I’m not trying to steal your company secrets,” he says. Matt snickers, pleased with his own melodrama. “I’m asking if you’re having fun. Is everything going well, are you stressed out?”

            Matt shakes his head. “Things are fine. We get setbacks, but it’s no worse than final projects senior year.” He flips to an animated film they’ve both seen and pauses, looking back at Shiro. This time the regret Shiro finds in his eyes is genuine, and Shiro braces himself for the inevitable question.

            “How are you doing?” The real question, ‘How are you coping with the break?’, hovers over them, heavy like a blanket. Shiro bears the weight of it in his chest.   

            “I’m okay,” Shiro sighs. Matt’s wince says he doesn’t believe him, and maybe he shouldn’t. “I get more leg room at night.” He tries to smile, but it withers quickly. Matt’s face pinches up in sympathy before he leans against him, settling his head on Shiro’s shoulder as a comforting presence. Shiro stays stiff in his seat.

            “Have you done anything fun lately?” Matt askes softly. Shiro hums, pretending to be thinking about it, but that’s answer enough for Matt.

            “You need to get out more, especially right now,” he says with a little shake of his head. “Coming home to stress like that can’t be good for you.”

            “I am out,” Shiro tries. “I’m at a friend’s.”

            Matt smiles, and some of the sad sympathy drains from his eyes as he sits back up.

            “Yeah. Let’s get drunk off a pathetic amount of beer and make fun of cartoons.”

            Shiro snorts and toasts to that. Matt hits play on a stop-motion film, and it seems like that’s the end of that. But after two beers and half of a story about a young boy and his magical instrument, Shiro has to use the bathroom. They pause the film and break, Matt heading for the kitchen in the interim.

            When Shiro comes back from the bathroom, Matt is partway through microwaving popcorn.

            “I thought you wanted to make fun of this, but it’s actually really good.” Shiro leans against the fridge, facing Matt as he taps his fingers on the counter. Matt’s eyebrows shoot up.

            “What, Kubo? No, Kubo’s amazing.”

            The popcorn kernels begin to burst in the microwave, each little explosion growing louder by the second. Matt shifts to hover a finger over the stop button on the machine, waiting.

            “No, we’re going to make fun of bad cartoons after this,” he says. “I wanted to start off good, set the bar high so we can laugh harder later.”

            Shiro raises an eyebrow. “More like you want to pretend you’re too mature to like the average cartoons.”

            “No one’s too mature to like cartoons,” Matt huffs. The popcorn quiets down and Matt stops the microwave and opens the door, filing the space with the scent of hot butter.

            “You’ve got me there,” Shiro says. “You definitely aren’t too mature.”

            Matt smacks at his shoulder, mouth open in mock offense. “You be nice! It’s my birth month!”

            Shiro rolls his eyes and shuts the microwave door. “I get one day every four years, and you get a whole month?”

            “That’s just how it be on this bitch of an Earth,” Matt sighs and leads the way back to the couch. Shiro snorts.

            “Maybe you’re just greedy.”

            “I’m sharing my Netflix with you!”

            “I could just watch my own Netflix at home, without you,” Shiro reminds him as they near the couch.

            “No!” Matt whips around. It catches Shiro off guard, and he stumbles to a stop, socked feet sliding over the hardwood floor. Matt’s pointing a finger straight into his face.

            “You’re not allowed,” he says, voice firm. Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. “You spend way too much time on your own.”

            It’s startling, to see how quickly Matt can shift from goofing around to being deeply concerned and protective over him. The fierceness of his expression steals any protests Shiro could make.

            Matt lowers his arm and his voice. His face is still serious as he adds, “We need to hang out more.”

            “We’re hanging out right now,” Shiro offers, tilting his head with the hope of making peace. Matt smiles, soft and perhaps a little apologetic. A silence falls.

            It’s not often that things feel awkward between them, but now the air feels tight, the space behind the couch too crowded. The tv screen fades to black, entering sleep mode. Matt shifts the popcorn bag from one hand to the other, patting his free hand against his pantleg to rub off the grease of the faux-butter. Shiro shifts his weight back and forth, slowly, in a way that would be idle if it weren’t so awkwardly deliberate. It feels like they should say something now, like they’ve both nodded to an elephant in the room but haven’t spoken about it. Like they’re just staring at it, unable to look away. But it also feels like this conversation picked up at the wrong time, before either of them is ready to have it. Part of him feels that maybe they should throw a sheet over the beast and just set it aside. Shiro’s been setting most things aside, lately.

            “Yeah. Sorry,” Matt eventually says. “Let’s get back to the movie, yeah?”

            Shiro hesitates. Matt watches him in the quiet, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head with curious concern. Shiro sighs.

            “I’m sorry. I’ve kind of been… I don’t know.”

            “Mourning,” Matt says quietly. Shiro pauses. He hadn’t thought to put it that way, and honestly it stings to hear. A surge of defensiveness builds up in his chest.

            “Not _mourning_ , just … taking time to reflect,” he says quickly. He’s frowning, scowling even, and as he realizes this he worries there may be some truth to what Matt says.

            Matt shifts his weight and frowns back at him. He looks apologetic but determined as he presses. “You spend too much time in your own head, Shiro.” Shiro can’t deny that. Matt sets the bag of popcorn on the couch and steps forward, reaching out. Shiro lets him rest his hand on his left arm. “I’m worried about you.”

            Shiro dips his head in guilt. He hates making others worry about him. It leaves his stomach churning. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.” It sounds lame as it falls out of his mouth, a blank repetition that they both know isn’t completely true. Matt shakes his head and rubs Shiro’s good arm.

            “You’re not, though. And I can’t be there for you as much as I want to.” He sighs and smiles weakly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood. I invited you over to get your mind off things, not grill you over your coping skills.”

            “No,” Shiro interrupts, looking up, “you’re okay. I know you care. Honestly, as much as I don’t like thinking about it, I’m glad you’re looking out for me. I just… I don’t know.”

            It’s cyclical and futile, trying to explain himself. He wishes he could just find the words, and the strength to say them, but that means admitting there’s a problem, and that… that scares him. What if he can’t fix this? Where will he go from here? The unknowing is what intimidates him, more than any enemy he came across in the field overseas. The things you don’t know are the things that could kill you.

            “It’s heavy shit,” Matt says. Shiro huffs, amused in spite of himself. “I feel like you need to talk it out, though. See someone, maybe.”

            Shiro feels himself tense at the idea, and hates himself for it. He knows sealing himself up like this only makes him sick, but he can’t help feeling nauseous at the idea of seeing a psychiatrist, of being vulnerable with a stranger and admitting his guilt and avoidance. Especially when that guilt is made solely in his head. When he has no one to blame but himself for this struggle.

            “You don’t have to,” Matt whispers. Shiro winces and shoots him an apologetic glance. Part of him wants to say ‘I _should_ ,’ but he feels his stomach flip at the thought. He sighs heavily and leans into Matt’s touch.

            “I’m sorry. I’m a mess.”

            “You’re not a mess,” Matt says, leaning into his chest in a half hug. Shiro decides not to argue it. “You just need a bigger support system.”

            “It wouldn’t be such a problem if she wasn’t half my system,” Shiro jokes. It sounds more so sad than funny.

            Matt pulls back and rubs his arm again. “That sounds like the root of the problem then. You need more friends, my dude.”

            “I have friends.” Matt gives him a look. Shiro raises his shoulders in a defensive half shrug. “Not a ton, but some.”

            Matt steps back and leans sideways against the couch. “Name one friend who isn’t me that you’ve seen in the last two months.” Shiro opens his mouth, but Matt raises a finger. “Co-workers don’t count.”

            Shiro hesitates, thinking. Matt raises an eyebrow at him, a tiny smirk starting to bloom across his face. There’s a little playful challenge in his eyes that stirs the competitive side of Shiro and makes him want to prove him wrong. His first thought of ‘Does Coran count?’ certainly won’t do that, though. He casts around for someone – anyone – else, and only comes up with his encounter two nights ago. It’s better than nothing.

            “I was with my friend the other day, at Blaytz’s.”

            “Yeah? Who?” Matt asks, crossing his arms. He looks like he’s only humoring Shiro. “I don’t think Ulaz has been out here lately.”

            “No,” Shiro shakes his head, “not him. A, uh, a new friend.”

            Matt squints at him. “A new friend?” Shiro nods. “You didn’t tell me about any new friends. How long have you known him? When’d you meet? What’s his name?”

            Shiro looks back to the tv, caught in his bluff. “He’s more of, uh, he’s a really new friend. His name is Keith.”

            Matt snorts. “Keith?” He shakes his head. “That sounds so fake, man. He might as well be named Steve. What’s his last name? Smith?”

            Shiro frowns. “You asked, I’m just telling you the truth.” It’s a neat way to deflect from the topic of last names, because Shiro knows next to nothing about this Keith fellow. In reality he doesn’t even count as a friend, just a friendly stranger. Although, if Shiro’s being honest, he feels a pang of disappointment at that.

            “How long have you been friends?” Matt raises a skeptical eyebrow. Shiro shrugs, but the look Matt gives him says he can’t get out of it that easily. Shiro resists the urge to sigh in defeat.

            “Since Wednesday.”

            “Wednesday,” Matt repeats. When Shiro nods, begrudgingly, he clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “That doesn’t count, Shiro.”

            “It could,” Shiro says.

            “It _doesn’t_.” Matt holds that look for a moment, but soon breaks, offering a more sympathetic smile. “It’s the start of a friendship, maybe, and I’m happy for you. Thrilled, even. But you gotta do more than see the guy – what? Once?”

            Shiro nods. He knows this, of course. It’s just that between work and the stress of home, he hasn’t given himself the time to put himself out there. And okay, yes, maybe he hasn’t exactly _wanted_ to, or really _tried_ to, lately. It just wasn’t something that felt important before all this, when things were going well. Allura used to take up nearly half of his life, and he was happy with that. It almost feels like too big of a gap to fill now, too big for him to even be sure of where to start.

            “Get his number,” Matt says. “Invite him out to diner or something. Build a friendship. And go to things! There’s a bunch of fish in the sea and all that.”

            “I’m still married, Matt,” Shiro cuts in firmly, frowning. He’d like to at least pretend things could be fixed between him and Allura.

            Matt winces and holds up his hands in a peaceful gesture. “That’s not what I meant. I meant like, friend fish.”

            “Friend fish?” The couch groans as Shiro leans into it. He glances down, hoping the legs haven’t scuffed the hardwood. Matt doesn’t take notice, leaning against the couch as well, his arms still crossed.

            “Shush. You know what I’m saying. Go out to like those park events I keep sending you, or go, I dunno, take an art class at the community college. Meet people. Go wine tasting for all I care.” He laughs and Shiro snorts, nudging his foot with his.

            “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, Matt, but I’m not much of a gourmand.” This joke at least gets Matt snickering.

            “Trust me, I know. I’ve seen you cook.”

            Shiro scoffs and gives him a playful shove. Matt stumbles and laughs, then tries to push him back, utterly failing. The weight from the tense conversation earlier rolls off of them as they fool around like teenagers. It’s nice.

            “Your popcorn’s probably cold and gross now,” Shiro says after a bit. He pushes off from the couch and walks around Matt to head back to his seat. Matt grimaces but follows and opens the bag all the same.

            “It’s not the worst,” he decides after taking a handful. Shiro shrugs and takes some when it’s offered. Matt picks up the remote and turns the tv back from sleep mode.

            “You know what else you could try,” he says, glancing to the side at Shiro.

            “What?” Shiro shifts and pulls over the blanket Matt keeps on the couch.

            “Tinder.”

            Shiro frowns. “For making _friends_? Isn’t that a hook-up app?”

            “No,” Matt says, but he sounds far too defensive for Shiro’s tastes. “People use it to connect to other people for perfectly innocent reasons too.”

            “Uh huh,” Shiro says, eyeing him. “Whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night.”

            Matt rolls his eyes. “It’s the twenty-first century, Shirogane. People are techy, but they’re not all self-centered egomaniacs or asocial. Everybody gets lonely.”

            “Are you speaking from experience?” Shiro raises an eyebrow at him. It sounds like maybe Matt should worry a bit about his own social life, rather than taking such a deep interest in Shiro’s. But Matt shakes his head.

            “No, my sister uses it. That’s how I know it’s not just a sex app.”

            That’s interesting. Shiro wouldn’t peg Katie as the type of kid to really care about having a big circle of friends, but then he supposes it’s only natural that if she were to go looking, she’d do it through technology. And Matt’s right that if she’s using Tinder, it can’t possibly be all sex. Still, he can’t ignore the great set up Matt’s given him.

            Grinning, Shiro says, “Sounds more like you haven’t come to terms with your baby sister’s sexuality.”

            Matt makes a dramatic show of flailing his arms and making gagging sounds. Shiro laughs until he gets smacked in the face with a throw pillow and threatened with the possibility of being uninvited to Matt’s birthday party later that month. It’s a big bluff, of course, but Shiro decides to be a merciful man and turn the movie back on in truce.

 

            There is no hockey game on Monday, so the television over the bar at Blaytz’s shows a sports talk show analyzing the latest plays by the top football players this season. The bar is a little less crowded when Shiro comes in at six, weighed down with a serious case of Monday night exhaustion. He’s both surprised and pleased to find Keith sitting on the same barstool as the week before, the same leather jacket shielding him from the wind that follows Shiro inside.

            Tentatively, Shiro takes up the stool beside him and, after a moment, offers a little wave. Keith watches him with that stare of his and says nothing, taking a sip from the glass in his hand. Shiro’s smile falters.

            “Same as before?” Blaytz calls from down the bar. Shiro looks up and trips over his words.

            “Uh, y-yeah. Yes, I mean. Just a beer is fine.” He lets out the breath caught in his throat with a sigh while Blaytz turns to get him a bottle.

            He feels ridiculous, sitting here beside a man who is decidedly a stranger, no matter what he said to Matt over the weekend. Why he’d expected anything when he realized Keith was here again is beyond him. Ducking his head, Shiro pulls out his phone and skims through messages he’s already read. Some are from work, his coworkers asking him about upcoming projects or reminding him to bring certain points up in the next meeting. Others are from Matt, pressing his point from Friday night. Pestering him to hang out more with this Keith if they really did hit it off like Shiro said. The only problem with that is that they clearly didn’t, and Shiro is far too awkward to know how to start up a conversation here without some neutral ground like the bar’s sports game, especially when Keith just gives him that blank, almost disinterested stare when he tries to say hello.

            His phone buzzes with a new text when he looks up to thank Blaytz for the drink set before him. Shiro takes a long sip before checking the message. It’s from Allura.

            [The house is empty. I will be working an overnight shift tonight. I am having take-away for dinner.]

            It’s pristine and grammatical, and possibly the most she’s said to him in the past week. He sends an [Okay, good luck.] before putting his phone away and taking another long swig from his bottle. He catches Keith staring at him when he sets the beer back on the counter. Shiro winces and looks away.

            “Sticking around a bit, tonight?”

            Shiro gives him a warry glance, but despite his staring, Keith seems to be genuinely asking. The other shrugs when Shiro doesn’t answer and says, “I want to wait around a bit before I try to drive, and you’re not bad company.” He sips his half empty glass and continues to stare, waiting for Shiro’s answer.

            “I can’t imagine just one drink would put you at risk,” Shiro says slowly, unsure of what to make of that. He turns his head to better face Keith, who shrugs and glances at the tv.

            “Still. I’d rather wait.”

            Shiro wonders why Keith acts disinterested if he’s seeking company. It seems as though there’s something Keith isn’t sharing, as though maybe Shiro isn’t the only one in need of some companionship lately, but that doesn’t add up with his distanced attitude.

            All the same, now that the ice is broken, Shiro feels comfortable directing their conversation forward. It seems like the best way to find answers to his wonderings. Besides, the way Keith is glancing sideways at him seems to be his cue to start up something.

            “What kind of bike do you have?” he asks.

            Keith turns slowly, then starts to smile. It brightens his features and brings a more youthful light to his face that has Shiro wondering suddenly how old he actually is. “She’s a Kawasaki, Z900,” Keith says.

            Shiro smiles politely and asks, “Got a picture?” because he doesn’t actually know much about bikes. Keith nods and fishes in his pocket for his phone, still smiling proudly as he flips through his pictures. It seems bringing up the bike was the right choice, because whatever feeling of distance was there when Shiro came in has vanished suddenly with Keith’s change in demeanor.

            “One day I want to get a sports bike – I was thinking Aprilia, but who knows, maybe something better will come out. Ducati did pretty well last year too. Here.”

            He holds out his phone. Shiro looks down at a picture of a beautiful bike, sleek black with gorgeous red accents. Keith leans against the bike from the other side of it, hair in a messy ponytail off to his left. He’s beaming at whomever took the photo, standing in a gravel-lined driveway.

            “Wow,” Shiro breathes.

            “She’s my prized possession,” Keith says. Shiro neglects to mention it wasn’t just the bike that caught his breath. “Cost me nearly ten grand, but I haven’t regretted it.” He takes back his phone, still grinning while he puts it in a jacket pocket. “What about you? Do you have a bike?”

            Someone opens the door, letting in a big gust of autumn air. A person in a booth behind them calls out to their newly arrived friend while the piano notes of a Hozier song start coming through the bar’s speakers. Shiro shakes his head, smile turning rueful, and taps his fingers against the bottle on the counter.

            “No, I can’t ride. I have a couple cars, but it’s not much of a commute to work, so I walk more often than not.”

            Keith considers that for a moment, then nods. “There’s not much parking further into the city, and it’s pretty expensive. God knows I couldn’t afford that.” He pauses. Shiro smiles embarrassedly, because in all honesty, he _could_ afford it, if he wanted to, and Keith’s probably thinking that as well. It’s one of the perks of being important, as Keith put it last week. Or a perk of being married to a pharmaceutical heiress and surgeon. Shiro fidgets with his cuff and then takes a drink.

            “You should still take them out, though,” Keith says slowly. He gives Shiro a very serious look, as though they’re discussing his less than balanced diet. “It’s not good for the engines if you just leave them like that. Especially not with our weather.”

            Shiro chuckles. “You said you were a fitness trainer.” He sets his bottle back down on the bar counter. Keith gives him a blank look, like he doesn’t see Shiro’s point. “You sound more like a mechanic with the way you’re lecturing me.”

            Keith pulls back a little, eyebrows flicking up in startled regret. He shifts in his jacket, the leather creaking against itself.

            “Ah, sorry,” he mumbles. “I wasn’t trying to—I just like engines and all that. I guess… I’m… It’s not my business.”

            He frowns and looks down, fidgets with the strap across the back of his leather riding gloves. Shiro has the passing thought to take one in his own hand, but decides against it. It’s a reflex he’s developed from living with Allura, who picks at her cuticles when she’s stressed. Somehow, he doesn’t think this near stranger would appreciate the same gesture.

            “I wasn’t calling you out,” Shiro says softly, settling his hand on the counter between them instead. “Besides, I hear it all the time from my friend Matt. He’s got a degree in mechanical engineering, so you can imagine his thoughts on my garage.”

            Keith eases up and shifts to lean against the counter. Blaytz comes by to take his empty glass as he nods.

            “Yeah, I get that. He sounds like a friend of mine from high school. She’s CS, but she’s going to grad school for robotics, and she’s always trying to get me to let her modify my bike.” Keith sighs and shakes his head, making Shiro chuckle.

            “Yup, that definitely sounds like the kind of thing Matt would do. I guess I’ll count myself lucky I only see him a few times a month then.”

            Keith shrugs. He raises a hand to brush bangs out of his eyes, but they slip back into place a moment later as he taps the radio’s beat onto the counter, arms crossed in front of him.

            “Like I said, I don’t really see my old friends much anymore.” He stares at his tapping fingers and speaks softly. There’s an almost guilty note to it that Shiro isn’t totally sure he isn’t just projecting onto him.

            “Well,” Keith says, lifting his head, “except for Lance. Lance will never leave me alone. He’ll probably haunt my house after he dies.”

            Shiro smiles at the grumpy little frown that thought brings to Keith’s face. “Lance is the one you talked about last time, right? Who nominated you to get arrested?”

            Keith scoffs, and it sounds suspiciously like the start of a laugh. “Most likely to _be_ arrested,” he says. He presses his palms to the counter and sits up straighter, shaking his head a bit to flick hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, that’s Lance. He thinks he’s hilarious.”

            “Don’t we all?” Shiro grins. Keith rolls his eyes, but concedes a light-hearted “I _guess_ ,” in agreement. Shiro counts that as a win.

            The song on the radio shifts to something slower, softer. The kind that feels at home in a seedier bar, where the counters were lined with patrons feeling sorry for themselves. Shiro tries to stave away the melancholy that music tries to bring up in him, suddenly very aware that once Keith decides to leave for the night, he’ll be left to go home to an empty house haunted by the fragments of his marriage. It’s not as appealing as a home haunted by a high school friend.

            “He… he sounds fun,” Shiro says softly, trying to regain his focus. Keith snorts.

            “That’s one way to put it.” He makes a point of sounding annoyed, but Shiro thinks he can detect a smile lurking in the exaggerated frown. He offers a weak smile of his own.

            “How would you put it, then?”

            Keith does smile then, almost begrudgingly, and leans to the side against the counter, his arm bent and hand hanging loose off the edge. “A pain in the ass.” He blinks once and sweeps a hand through his bangs again. This time about a third of it stays in place.

            “He’s constantly pestering me about my life. He’s like a cross between a nosy sibling and a mother hen.”

            Shiro laughs at the familiarity he finds in that description. “I feel you.” Keith gives him an amused look that says both ‘Oh really?’ and ‘I’m so sorry,’ which only makes Shiro laugh even more.

            “I’ll bet he’d get on well with Matt. He’s been on my case for months about my social life.”

            Keith nods, rolling his eyes. “Oh yeah, that’s Lance. He keeps trying to get me to socialize. With who, I don’t know. It’s not like I’m going to take Acxa out for lunch or something. It drives him crazy that I don’t text her.”

            Shiro adjusts his arm, dangling his hand off the counter between them as well while Blaytz stops by to take his bottle. He notices the way the bartender watches them with a little smirk on his lips. Shiro tries to ignore it.

            “Who’s Acxa?” he asks.

            “A coworker,” Keith says. He shrugs. “She has her own self-defense class, sometimes we collaborate. I don’t really talk to her outside of work. Lance is just obsessed with the idea of me making new friends.” He makes a face and rolls his shoulder, glancing up at the tv. It’s only a commercial, so Shiro guesses he isn’t really watching it as intently as he pretends. They’re in the same awkward boat, then.

            “Matt keeps trying to get me to go to mixers and things, too. I think it’s just their way of showing they care.”

            Keith shoots him a sideways glance. Shiro feels heat prickle the edges of his ears as he admits to this stranger that he barely has any friends. But Keith seems interested, rather than judgmental, and if he’s in the same situation, maybe Shiro’s initial instinct that he’d found a potential friend wasn’t too far off after all.

            “You know,” Shiro begins. Keith’s eyes narrow, wary, and that distrust catches Shiro off guard. “I was just thinking… I mean…”

            He pauses to clear his throat. Keith turns to face him head on, but his eyes are still guarded, and his intense gaze does nothing to quell Shiro’s sudden anxiety. Whether or not he’s similar to Shiro, Keith seems to be a very difficult person to read.

            “I was just thinking. If they’re both pestering us about how many friends we have, then the easiest solution would be if… if we became friends.”

            He raises his hand as he finishes his sentence, moving to hold it out like he’s sealing a business deal. Thankfully he catches himself midmotion and redirects it to rub nervously at the back of his head instead. Keith is still staring at him, his eyes a bit more searching and less defensive. He’s quiet for a long, awkward moment.

            Shiro is almost tempted to take it back and try to pass the whole thing off as a joke, when Keith finally says something.

            “Are you serious?” he asks. It’s biting, but not mocking. Shiro hopes that’s a good sign.

            “I am if you want me to be,” he says. He lowers his hand to his lap. Keith follows the motion with his eyes then looks back into Shiro’s. He’s quiet again for a few beats. Shiro feels almost as though he’s holding his breath.

            “Alright,” Keith says. Shiro raises his eyebrows, silently confirming he’s heard right. Keith gives a tiny nod. “Yeah, why not. I guess we’re friends now.”

            Shiro waits a beat, but it seems like that’s that. Keith pulls out his phone and flips through a few notifications.

            “It’s getting late,” Keith murmurs. Shiro catches sight of the time on his screen and agrees. “I should be good to ride now,” Keith says, darkening his screen and putting his phone away. He looks up then and meets Shiro’s eyes.

            “I’m going to head out. Same time tomorrow?”

            Shiro finds himself saying “Same time tomorrow,” before it really registers in his head. Keith flashes him a grin and then sets a bill on the counter for Blaytz. With a little wave of his hand, he stands up and heads out the door, leaving Shiro sitting there, still wrapping his mind around how simple that was.

            After a few minutes, his phone buzzes with a text from Matt. Smiling slightly, Shiro types out a gentle rejection to the invitation Matt forwarded him for a community block party next weekend, and follows it up with news on his new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can come freak out over this month's season with me on my [tumblr](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/). I always post my fics there as well, if you want to reblog. 
> 
> If you're curious, I imagine [The Night We Met by Lord Huron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtlgYxa6BMU) plays in the bar.


	3. Animal Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Keith spend some time getting to know one another and deepening their friendship. But Shiro soon finds the problem in distracting yourself from a rocky relationship with a brand new one is that it all turns into a balancing act.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This fic has actually gathered a bit of a following, which was a pleasant surprise for me. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. It ended up being nearly 8k! (I tried to cut it down, I really did...)
> 
> This chapter was beta'd by the wonderful [Anglophileslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophileslytherin/pseuds/Anglophileslytherin), who's been putting up with a whole lot of my nonsense for a whole lot of years. Check out her stuff!
> 
> A loose estimate of the chapter count for this fic would be somewhere between 15-20 chapters. I'm still polishing up my outline and tweaking some things, so I'll hold off on setting that in stone. 
> 
> Enjoy!~

            Shiro returns the next day after work, and then the day after that as well. He never would have pegged himself as the type to go out drinking every day; even as a college student he kept the parties on his back-burner, preferring to focus on school and extracurriculars before festivities. Which is not to say he didn’t cut loose or have an active social life, but there are ways of going about that without blacking out the next day. Keith, it seems, has a similar understanding.

            After just two days of official friendship, it’s obvious to Shiro that Keith is more than a regular at Blaytz’s. He might as well have his name engraved into the bar stool beneath the tv, because he sits there every single day. But despite the fact that he’s always there before Shiro arrives, with a drink in front of him, Shiro has never seen him so much as tipsy. Remembering Blaytz’s attempts at convincing him to buy more than one drink a day, and Keith’s deep dedication to making sure he is 100% road safe before leaving, Shiro suspects the bar is just Keith’s preferred way to wind down.

            At first, Shiro joins him in drinking, buying a beer every day and sipping his way through it, but as he comes to realize it’s less social and more of a destressing ritual for Keith, Shiro cuts back to just every other day. He makes sure to drop a hefty tip into the jar by the register on days when he skips the drink, and Blaytz doesn’t seem to mind.

            Keith does ask him about it, though, a week or so after their friendship begins.

            “If you don’t like drinking we don’t have to meet here,” he says a few minutes after Shiro’s sat down. It’s the first thing he’s said since Shiro came in. Shiro isn’t exactly expecting it, but he shrugs and offers a small smile. Keith raises his brows, skeptical.

            “I don’t mind. There’s a nice atmosphere here,” Shiro says. Keith still looks suspicious. It’s a friendly sort of suspicion though, a gruff way of expressing concern, and Shiro finds himself biting back a grin. “I really don’t care,” he says. “I’m just not the type to drink every single day. It doesn’t mean I mind if other people do.”

            Keith’s quiet for a moment, watching him. Shiro’s slowly getting used to his stares. He’s starting to think that maybe Keith doesn’t really realize he’s doing it. It might be a bit like spacing out – maybe he just gets too wrapped up in his thoughts and disconnects a bit from the world. It’s an interesting theory, really, and one Shiro wouldn’t mind spending more time on, especially if it means spending more time with Keith.

            Whatever Keith was thinking seems to have reached its conclusion, because he shrugs, and the expression on his face changes to something softer and more amused. Shiro leans against the counter while Blaytz cracks up at another patron’s joke. His booming laughter drowns out the hosts’ chatter on the tv. Shiro grins.

            “Maybe I’m still in the habit from school,” Keith snorts. He raises his beer and takes a drink, and Shiro’s eyes catch on the lithe upturn of his lips around the bottle. There’s something more Keith hasn’t said, something he’s given dramatic pause to, and it makes itself obvious in that little smirk and the glint in his eye.

            Keith sets the bottle down with a soft clunk, swallows, and then finally turns to look Shiro in the eye.

            “Or maybe you’re just old.”

            Shiro gapes, playfully offended. Keith grins at him and dares him to say something back. It’s hard to think of a good comeback in the wake of that handsome confidence, but Shiro tries his best.

            “You sure you’re even old enough to be served in here?”

            Keith snorts and doesn’t lose the smug glint in his eyes.

            “Maybe I should get Blaytz to double check your ID,” Shiro presses the joke.

            Keith rolls his eyes good naturedly and says, “I haven’t used a fake in four years,” and that gets Shiro laughing.

            It feels good, natural, to joke around like this. There’s enough ease and familiarity flowing between them for Shiro to almost forget how early into the friendship they are. It’s not nearly comparable to his relationship with Matt or Allura – before things began to stagnate – but Keith feels like a friend from college.

            “Quite the lush, aren’t you?” he teases as he comes back down from laughing. Keith throws back the last of his drink and sighs, satisfied.

            “No,” he says, curt and matter of fact. Shiro snickers. “You know what they say; half a glass of wine everyday is good for your heart. I’m just doing my part to stay healthy.”

            “You’re drinking beer,” Shiro points out. It’s only for show, taking the bait Keith set out for him, and Keith is already grinning before Shiro finishes his sentence.

            “Yeah, well I’m too broke to be ordering champagne every day.”

 

            As the days roll past, Shiro finds himself thinking more and more frequently of Keith. He looks forward to their daily meetings, starts to lose focus as the end of his shift draws near. The solitude of his home is unfortunately made more obvious in contrast to the bar’s warmth and gentle hum of life, but Shiro does find there are fewer hours each night for him to aimlessly kill now that he makes his daily detour before coming home. And once he and Keith start texting, even those hours stop feeling empty and wasted.

            It starts one day when Keith is late to their meet up. Shiro’s been drumming his fingers on the counter and watching the Lions put up a half decent fight in the rink, trying not to let anxiety nag at the back of his mind. It’s strange for Keith to be missing by the time Shiro comes into the bar, and Blaytz seems to agree. Shiro asks if Keith had already come and gone, but Blaytz shakes his head and says he was about to ask Shiro if he knew why Keith was late.

            It could be anything mundane. Maybe Keith got off work late, maybe he had to run errands. Maybe there was traffic, or maybe he stopped off at home. But no matter how many reasonable explanations there are, Shiro’s mind still clips to images of crashes and motorcycle mortality statistics, and every piece of discouraging info his concerned mother pitched at him when he was in high school and flirting with the idea of having a bad boy phase. The beer and the game do a bit to muffle Shiro’s nerves, but he still sighs out a breath of relief when Keith comes through the front doors, jacket zipped up and helmet tucked under his arm.

            The leather of his jacket shines with rivulets of rainwater as he takes his seat and waves to Blaytz for a drink.

            “Sorry I’m late. I had to buy a bunch of cat food and drop it off at home.”

            Shiro leans forward at that. “You have a cat?” It’s exciting news, considering how much he himself loves cats.

            It must show on his face, because Keith gives him a curious look. “I do now,” he says and unzips his jacket. Blaytz sets a drink down and hovers at their end of the bar while Keith pulls his phone from an inside pocket.

            “I found her last night, hiding in a soggy box.”

            Keith sets his phone on the counter and slides it over for Shiro to look. There’s a picture of the cat, crouched low and heavy in the center of a futon couch. Her russet ears are drawn back, her lips curled in a snarl. Shiro coos in sympathy for the anxious fear in her huge brown eyes.

            He passes the phone to Blaytz, who’s been craning his head to try and see.

            “How’d you get her home?” Shiro asks. Keith shrugs a shoulder, nonchalant.

            “She already had the box, so I kind of just herded her in. Getting her through the lobby was the hardest part.”

            Shiro snorts, imagining Keith clutching a moving, dripping, yowling box to his chest and waiting awkwardly for an elevator.

            “I’m guessing she wasn’t exactly happy with you for that,” he says, quirking a brow. Keith nods solemnly.

            “Nah, she hates me.”

            He reaches for his drink and takes a long sip as Blaytz passes back his phone.

            “She looks pretty well fed for a stray,” the bartender says. “You should call the shelters and let them know you found her in case her owners go searching there.” He settles his hands on his hips and glances around the room, likely thinking the same thing Shiro is – that this bar gets a decent amount of traffic, and is in a central enough area. Putting up posters here might do some good.

            But Keith shakes his head before either of them can say as much.

            “She’s not fed – I could see her ribs when she came out of the box.”

            Shiro looks at the picture again. “Is it just her fur?” The cat’s belly hangs noticeably low beneath her. Keith shakes his head again and takes back his phone.

            “No, she’s pregnant.”

            Shiro lets out a low whistle. “Poor girl. What are you going to do with her?” It wouldn’t be right to send her off to the pound, laden with kittens that’ll take up more of the precious and limited space for life. It’d be damn near a death sentence for at least one of them. But Shiro isn’t sure if there are any no kill shelters nearby – he and Allura have always been too busy to consider adopting a pet. Animals take far more time and responsibility than they’ve been able to spare.

            “I’m keeping her,” Keith says, as though it’s the obvious answer. Shiro blinks, feeling dumb in the wake of Keith’s indignance.

            “Oh,” he manages. Then, after a beat, “But what about the kittens? You’re going to go from no cats to three, four, five?”

            Keith nods, quick, short, and firm, leaving no room for argument. Shiro watches him draw from his glass with raised brows. That’s not a level of responsibility Shiro would have guessed Keith would take on at the drop of a hat. He’s respectfully impressed.

            “The real problem,” Keith says, when he’s swallowed his drink and crossed his arms on the counter, “is how the hell I’m going to get her to a vet. I want her looked at to make sure she isn’t sick, but all I have is my bike.”

            It doesn’t take long for Shiro to reach a decision on that.

            “I’ll help you. I’ve got a car, I can drive you two out.”

            Keith stares at him, a little wider eyed than usual. Shiro shrugs. It’s not that big of an issue – it’s not as though he’d wind up canceling any evening plans. Besides that, he wouldn’t mind the chance to meet this cat in person, even if she seems a little feral. It’s certainly not her fault life handed her a bad lot. He’d like to make it better.

            “Give me your number,” Keith says by way of accepting the offer. Shiro’s grown accustomed to his directness by now and takes it for what it is.

            “I have weekends off,” he says after they’ve added themselves to each other’s phones. Keith nods.

            “I’ll text you the hours and schedule an appointment with them.”

            “Send me updates, too,” Shiro says on impulse. Keith raises his brows, surprised by the eagerness in Shiro’s tone. Shiro coughs and rubs at the back of his neck. Thankfully Blaytz has already moved on to tend some other patrons and isn’t around to laugh at Shiro’s expense.

            “I just, uh… I like cats,” he says. Keith’s face changes minutely, a little smile pulling at his lips. The overall looks says he finds Shiro’s embarrassment endearing, but that only embarrasses Shiro more. He takes a slow breath to regain his composure.

            “She’s cute, is all,” he says. Keith nods.

            “Yeah, she is. I’ll send you pictures if that’s what you’re after.” He takes a final cool drink from his cup, draining the last of it while feigning aloofness, but Shiro catches the look in his eyes. He’s still internally laughing.

            Shiro steels his face against the childish urge to pout. He doesn’t, however, reject the offer of frequent cat pics.

 

            The cat is deemed healthy, if underweight, by the vet and prescribed a special diet to make up for any nutrients she and her kittens lost. The vet also decides she isn’t feral, just mistrusting, which is reasonable enough to expect from a vulnerable young mother trying to protect her babies. It does lead to the theory that she used to be a house pet and was perhaps put out on the street after she got pregnant. That would mean she’s been fending for herself for over a month.

            Shiro is startled by the intensity of emotion that theory sparks in Keith. He himself is appalled at the nerve of some people, but Keith is nothing short of furious. Animal lover isn’t a label Shiro would have pegged Keith with when they first met, but he’s certainly appreciative of this newly discovered aspect of his friend. Keith is a good person, and his cat is in good hands.

 

            True to his word, Keith sends daily updates and pictures of Red. For all his dedication to the former stray, he’s apparently a bit lacking in the creativity department. Shiro teases him over the obvious name, and suggests names for the eventual kittens, such as “Cat” and “Stripes” and “Grey”. Keith tells him he isn’t funny, but Shiro knows he’s probably cracked a smile.

            The cat pics and gentle jokes expand before long to other topics, such as a humorous typo Keith finds in the supermarket or a terrible video Shiro forwards straight from Matt just so he won’t have to suffer alone. It’s fun, a welcome change to the old routine – or lack thereof – and after a couple weeks, he barely remembers how he spent his time before.

            Red is due to give birth any day now. Shiro can’t help checking his phone every hour or so, just in case. He helped Keith pick out cat beds, blankets, and toys for the babies last weekend. They’re both excited in different ways. Shiro’s anxious to see the little kittens while Keith is trying his best to give them a good home.

            It isn’t until mid afternoon that Keith finally texts him. Shiro taps open the message eagerly but is disappointed to see it isn’t a picture of baby cats. It isn’t a picture at all.

            [hey, can i ask u something really stupid?]

            He isn’t sure what to make of that. He sits down on the couch, cup of coffee in hand, and decides the only answer that can satisfy his wary curiosity is [Yes].

            Keith takes a while to text back. Shiro tries waiting, but after a few minutes he grows bored and flips through the channels on tv. There isn’t much on on a Saturday afternoon around here. Allura has Netflix going in their her (technically their) bedroom – Shiro can hear familiar voices from one of her shows. She’s been binging it all day.

            It’s looking like cartoons are the only decent options by the time his phone buzzes with a new message.

            Shiro raises an eyebrow at the complete wall of text Keith has sent. No wonder he took so long typing it.

            [so i told u before about how lance has been up my ass about me talking to people. he was talking to me earlier and i told him again about u but he keeps saying i made you up? he calls me a conspiracy theorist b/c i believe in aliens but then he goes around saying shit like ‘ive never seen u two in the same place’. i told him hes never seen u at all but he said that just proves his point.]

            Shiro’s a little speechless and plenty amused at the rant. Lance sounds like quite the character, but he’d probably be better suited to the likes of Matt rather than Keith. It’s no surprise Keith is feeling aggravated with his shenanigans.

            The stream of conscious paragraph doesn’t actually answer Shiro’s curiosity, though.

            [So, are you asking me how to get him to believe you?]

            A few minutes later comes another reply.

            [no.  he told me i have to bring u to the zoo tomorrow or else u dont exist.]

            Shiro laughs at that bizarre leap in logic. He goes to type [Why the zoo?] but his phone buzzes midway with another text.

            [its idiotic but itll at least get him off my case, so… wanna come?]

            Shiro smiles. There are certainly worse things to do on a Sunday afternoon than go to the zoo.

 

            They meet at the front gates at one. Keith wears the same leather jacket as always to fend against the cold, and Shiro wonders in passing what he must do in the winter. It’s probably too cold for just a jacket, but he can’t imagine it’s easy to ride a motorcycle in a thick winter coat, either.

            Keith is alone, which is strange. If they’re supposed to be proving to Lance that Shiro exists, it would probably be useful to have Lance around. Keith leads the way to the admissions booth to pay for entree, and then into the zoo itself. Shiro looks around once they’re past the gates for someone waiting. He doesn’t know much about Lance except that he’s Keith’s age, but no one in the crowd stands out to him, and Keith doesn’t pay attention to any of them.

            “So where’s Lance?” Shiro asks after a few minutes. Keith angles himself toward the main path and waits for Shiro to fall in stride with him.

            “He’ll be over by the aquarium section,” Keith says as they deeper in. Shiro glances down at his pamphlet and the little stylized map of the zoo. There’s a square icon with waves drawn on it in the northeast of the map, and a cluster of buildings labeled with letters corresponding to the legend on the side. Shiro’s intrigued to see one of them labeled as a show tank.

            “Should we head over there, then?” Shiro folds up the map and sets it in his coat pocket.

            Keith shrugs and veers towards the bars of the enclosure on the left of the path.

            “I told him we’d meet him around 1:30, so we’ve got time. I think there’s a show running right now anyway.”

            Keith comes to a stop and peers in through the bars. Shiro stands next to him and looks in as well, curious.

            “You think the crowds’ll be thick over there?”

            The enclosure is sandy, with scrubland fauna set up around the area. Further in, he sees the sandy backs of kangaroos clustered together, as though they’re having a little meeting. They’re cute at this distance, though Shiro can’t help being reminded of the various videos Matt has shown him of kangaroos completely ruining people’s days.

            “Probably,” Keith says. “From what Lance tells me, the show is pretty popular.”

            They look on at the kangaroos for another few quiet minutes before moving along.

            “Do you have a favorite animal?” Keith asks as they walk.

            Shiro shrugs. “Nothing exotic, really. I like cats.”

            Keith snorts and smirks at him, casting a teasing sideways glance his way. “Really? I never would have guessed. What with the way you squealed at Red.”

            Shiro huffs, playfully offended. “I did not _squeal_ when I saw your cat.”

            “You practically melted into my carpet,” Keith laughs. Shiro rolls his eyes. A pair of young boys scamper past them toward the lion enclosure up ahead. Shiro smiles fondly after them, but feels a pang of sympathy for the frustrated mother calling after them. He’s certainly glad he and Allura shared a disinterest in having children.

            “I did not melt,” he says, turning to look Keith in the eye. “I just said she was adorable.”

            “‘The sweetest, most precious baby,’” Keith quotes him. Shiro feels heat itch up his neck.

            “What’s your favorite animal then?” he deflects. Keith snorts, telling him it isn’t a subtle topic shift, but he obliges Shiro anyway.

            “Hippos.”

            Shiro raises an eyebrow. He’d have expected Keith to say “wolves”, or “foxes”, or “panthers” – something that reflected his personality a little more than the hippopotamus. Keith doesn’t appreciate his skepticism. He raises a brow right back, challenging Shiro to say something about it, as though he has any room to talk with as generic a response as he himself gave. 

            “That’s not really what I was expecting,” Shiro says honestly. Keith narrows his eyes.

            “Why not?”

            Shiro shrugs. He and Keith have become decent friends, but he’s still feeling out boundaries. He’d hate to say the wrong thing and actually offend him.

            Keith continues to squint at him, refusing to take silence as an answer. Shiro pulls out his map to give himself somewhere else to look and says, “I just don’t really associate you with gentle giants is all.”

            He catches the scowl in his peripheral vision.

            “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with hippos,” he quickly tries to smooth over, looking up from his map and holding his hands up in a gesture for peace.

            “They’re not gentle,” Keith says. Shiro blinks, losing his train of thought. The path forks and Keith takes them to the left.

            “What do you mean?” Shiro asks.

            “They’re not gentle,” Keith repeats. He crosses his arms. “Everyone assumes they’re like elephants, just because they’re round and have cute ears and teeth.”

            Shiro thinks on what he knows about elephants and decides that’s a pretty fair assessment. Hippos seem like the same kind of cutesy Disney sweethearts as Dumbo or that elephant from Tarzan… what was his name?

            “Did you know hippos are territorial?” Keith asks.

            They walk by the giraffe exhibit, where a tour guide is explaining something about the young giraffe eagerly trying to take the carrot from his hand.

            “No,” Shiro says. “I’m not really surprised, though. I guess they fight each other over river space?”

            Keith nods, but his expression is still irritated. “More than that – they fight off anything that comes into their territory. They even attack and sink boats.”

            Shiro takes a moment to process that. It’s definitely not what he’d expected.

            “Hippos also have three times enough biting force to bite through a man’s skull. Some of them have done it.”

            Shiro’s breath comes in a quick hiss. He feels blindsided by the casual way Keith presents that little science fun fact. He knew they had large mouths, but the idea of a cute and cuddly hippo chomping through human bone is… not something he wants to let his mind dwell on, actually.

            He swallows, a sudden lump in his throat and a tightening in his chest, and turns to look into the nearest enclosure for a distraction. The path has slowly sloped up as they’ve walked, putting them on a hill. The ground drops off toward the left, with high chain fences for visitors to stand by and look down into the exhibits. Shiro steps off the path to look down and sees a faux riverbank set up and a large reptile slithering along it. He focuses on it, trying to remember the differences between alligators and crocodiles rather than imagining a gruesome death at the jaws of a semi-aquatic mammal.

            Keith steps up beside him and gives him an irked look. Shiro winces. It must seem like he’s just blown Keith off in the middle of talking about his favorite animal, which he’s clearly passionate about. He gives Keith an apologetic look, trying to say with his eyes that his sudden pulling away wasn’t done out of disrespect. Keith narrows his eyes and stares the way he does when he’s trying to work out the meaning of something. Shiro holds his stare, earnest. It feels like several minutes pass before Keith speaks.

            “Are you okay?” He keeps the irritated expression, but his tone is more so confused than unhappy. Shiro has to look away.

            He shifts his weight and rubs at the back of his neck, using his left hand. Keith shifts as well, leather creaking as he crosses his arms. Shiro drags in a breath, counts to five, and drops it with a huffed sigh. He raises his head to speak.

            “I’ll be fine,” he says softly. It’s a little humiliating to be caught like this, having a reaction to barely anything. A consequence of making new friends that Shiro hadn’t considered lately: old friends like Matt and Allura know the places his nerves have been frayed and how to skirt away from the exposed and vulnerable edges. New friends have no idea, and nothing to go on.

            “Are you sure?” Keith asks just as softly. Shiro nods, firm and quick.

            “Yeah. Sorry. Maybe let’s not talk about that, though.”

            Keith gives him his thinking stare again even as he nods. Some kids nearby shriek and laugh as they run back and forth along the fence of an enclosure. Beyond their shrieking, Shiro can hear the murmur of an oncoming crowd.

            “About hippos, or…” Keith hesitates, looking for an inoffensive way to finish his question. Shiro gives him a weak smile.

            “Just the aggressive details,” he says. Keith blinks once and nods, easy.

            “Sure. Sorry about that.” He looks down into the alligator or crocodile pen, stepping closer so his shoulders are even with Shiro’s, albeit lower.

            “Do you think they’re gators, or crocs?” he asks without looking up.

            Shiro catches an unfamiliar sound in the way Keith says it, like the lingering tint of an unlearned accent. He takes a mental note to ask about it later, curiosity taking a backseat to the still clearing awkward air between them.

            “To be honest, I don’t really know how to tell the difference,” he says.

            “Yeah, me neither.”

            Keith shrugs and turns back to Shiro. He opens his mouth, but pauses a few beats, hesitating. Shiro gets the feeling it’s for his own sake, and tries to keep his expression open and welcoming. The last thing he wants is to be treated as though he’s fragile.

            “I’m going to go visit the hippos,” Keith says slowly. There’s a hint of apology in his eyes, but no pity. Shiro’s grateful for that. “Do you want to just wait here?”

            Shiro shakes his head. “No, I’ll come with you. I’m fine to see them. I just don’t…” _‘Want to talk about death, or morbid brutality’_ is the rest of the sentence, but the words catch and stick in his throat.

            The crowd he heard is in full view now, filling up the main path as it rolls through, at least a hundred people all moving away from the same place somewhere further in the park. Shiro nods to them instead of finishing his sentence.

            “Besides, it’d be better not to get separated.”

            Keith doesn’t press. He nods and angles his head to indicate the way, saying, “Alright, well their pen is over there, around that bend.” He takes the first few steps and waits until Shiro moves to follow before trying to break through the flow of traffic.

            “Where are all these people even coming from?” Shiro calls over the noise of the crowd.

            Keith glances at his phone. “It’s 1:20 – they’re probably coming out of the show.”

            If that’s the case, then Lance was certainly right about the show being popular. “What kind of show is it?” he asks, angling his body to pass between a couple. He apologizes to them while Keith presses forward, quick and efficient. It’s a lot easier for him to slip by than it is for Shiro, given their size difference.

            After a few minutes of fighting the flock of people, they make it around the bend and sidestep into a viewing area. Keith turns back to wait for Shiro to fully extract himself from the crowd.

            “It’s different depending on the day. Today’s otters.”

            That makes a lot of sense. Everyone and their mother thinks otters are adorable even without tricks.

            Keith leads the way over to the edge of the enclosure. It’s another one like the crocodile/alligator pen, set into the ground so that the visitors can peer down at the animals. Down below is another manmade river habitat, though this one is a bit less marshy. Shiro spots movement in the water and realizes it’s the head of an otherwise fully submerged hippo.

            “That’s Humphrey,” Keith says, pointing to another floating head further down. Humphrey flicks his ears as if in greeting. Shiro smiles. “Georgina is the one over there,” Keith points at the first hippo, “and the one coming up on the bank is Gracie. Lance says she’s pregnant, finally.”

            Shiro raises an eyebrow and turns from the hippos to look at Keith. His features have softened significantly, and his eyes are bright and excited, like a little kid’s. A tight surge of affection shoots through Shiro’s chest. Keith looks absolutely adorable, and Shiro can barely handle it. Especially when he turns his head to grin at Shiro.

            An impulse to kiss him flies through Shiro’s mind. It’s shot down just as quickly as it showed up, but it leaves a matter-of-fact affection in its wake for Shiro to deal with. He’s known from the start, of course, that Keith is an attractive man. A little rugged, a little wild. Certainly handsome. It’s something that Shiro just has to take in stride, because they’re friends, and Shiro enjoys his company.

            “They’ve had Gracie for months,” Keith says, turning back to the hippos, “but I guess the move stressed her out or something, because they couldn’t get her to breed.”

            It’s endearing, how invested Keith seems to be in the lives of the hippos. It’s starting to make sense to Shiro now why Lance wanted to meet here of all places.

            “You come here often?” Shiro guesses. Keith turns back to him with narrowed eyes, although he’s still grinning. There’s a wary glimmer there, as though he thinks he may have caught on to some joke, but somehow Shiro’s missed it. Shiro thinks back on what he said that could warrant the searching look, and after a moment of staring realizes it; he’s just said one of the lamest pick-up lines out there. He wants to smack himself in the face.

            “Often enough,” Keith says with a tilt of his head. He’s smirking, and there’s a teasing underlay to the answer that makes Shiro want to laugh at himself. Take it in stride indeed.

            “You know a lot about the zoo,” he clarifies, voice warm and amused from his own mistake. Keith shrugs and drops back to a smile.

            “Lance talks me into coming down now and again,” he says. He looks back out at the hippos for a moment, then turns to Shiro again. “It’s about time to meet him, so we should probably head over.”

            Shiro nods and takes out his map. The crowd is marginally better now – at least there’s a decent enough amount of people heading in either direction, rather than a one-way surge. “You said aquarium section?”

            Keith waves goodbye to the hippos, who do nothing in return. “Yeah. He’s at the show tank, it’s that building over there.”

            Shiro looks to where Keith’s pointing. From here they can see the corner of a white building in front of which a line is forming.

            “Does he want us to see the next show?” he asks.

            Keith shrugs and starts toward the building. “He likes to show off, so probably. He didn’t tell me to buy tickets though.”

            “When is it?”

            “He goes on at two, so I think they stop selling tickets around 1:50.”

            “Goes on?”

            They make their way along the path, and soon come up to the large building. Up close, Shiro can see there are water decals and images of otters and dolphins painted around the ticket windows. The line for the upcoming show stretches down the side of the building and out towards the nearby food stalls. Keith and Shiro step toward the line but stop when someone calls Keith’s name.

            Shiro turns and sees a tall man in a wetsuit waving their way. He’s grinning wide, and even from here Shiro gets the impression that this is the kind of person who has boundless energy.

            “That’s Lance,” he guesses. Keith nods, stepping past him and raising his hand in a short wave.

            “You’re late,” Lance says when they come up to him. Keith crosses his arms.

            “I’m not late. It’s 1:30, just like we said.”

            Lance waggles his finger and shakes his head with a mock-serious expression. “Ah ah ah, it’s actually _1:33_ ,” he says. Keith scoffs.

            “It’s still part of 1:30, and two of those minutes were spent talking to you right now!”

            “The nerve of some people,” Lance says, leaning in toward Shiro in a ridiculous stage whisper. Shiro snorts and shakes his head, realizing two things at once. One, Lance lives to get a rise out of Keith, and two, he’s very good at it.

            “I’m Shiro,” Shiro says, holding out his left hand in the usual gesture. Lance looks down at it, then drops the hand he’d cupped around his mouth for the whisper and takes Shiro’s in his.

            “Glad to see you’re not a figment of his imagination after all,” Lance says. Keith glares at him for it.

            “Happy to prove I’m real, I guess,” Shiro says. Lance flashes him a grin, apparently pleased with that answer. Then he turns to Keith.

            “Satisfied?” Keith asks. Lance shrugs.

            “For now, I guess. Unless you just paid this guy to pretend he knows you.” His grin shifts to a smirk as Keith huffs at him in annoyance.

            “Even if I paid him, doesn’t that prove I at least know him a little bit?”

            “Touché,” Lance says, flicking out a single fingergun.

            Behind him, a side door of the show building opens, and a blonde woman also wearing a wetsuit steps out onto the path. She spots him immediately and calls out.

            “Lance, I need you to help set up!”

            Lance looks over his shoulder at her, then nods. “Be there in two minutes!”

            “Now who’s late?” Keith asks. Lance acts like he doesn’t hear and nods over toward the ticket booth.

            “I had Rolo set aside tickets for you guys, so just tell him you’re here.”

            “Who says we want to see your show?” Keith asks with an arch of the brow. Shiro bites back a grin. It almost feels like being an onlooker to his and Matt’s conversations, watching these two get under each other’s skins. With a flash of painful fondness he’s reminded of Allura, dressed in high waisted shorts and floppy sunhat, sipping her iced coffee to hide a smirk while Matt delivers a brutal burn outside the university’s Starbucks. He misses whatever Lance says behind the memory of what came later – Matt’s car parked at the gas station a few miles out from the lake, Allura inside buying snacks and water. The knowing look in Matt’s eyes, shrewd but encouraging. “You have to jump into it dude. Just take a deep breath and go for it, before you have time to psych yourself out.”

            Lance moves, stepping back and waving at them. Shiro blinks and raises a hand in return before Keith’s friend turns and jogs over to where his coworker stands impatient.

            “Guess we should grab those tickets,” Shiro says as he turns to Keith. Keith nods and leads the way to the counter, waving at the man running it.

            Shiro tries to shake the lingering ache in his chest as Keith talks to Rolo about the tickets Lance had set aside. That lake trip was years ago now, but it remains in the top five of his favorite memories. Even the melancholy filter tinting nearly all of his memories involving Allura has failed to change that. He’s too sentimental for his own good, probably. Or a masochist, Matt might say.

            “You alright?” Keith asks. Shiro meets his eyes, feigning surprise, as though he wasn’t just spacing out in heartaching thoughts. Marital problems aren’t exactly the kind of things one discusses with a new friend, and he’s not about to explain himself here by the ticket booth. He also doesn’t want to worry Keith anymore than he already has today.

            “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just remembering something,” he tries. It’s not a great lie, and he can tell by the look on Keith’s face that he isn’t convincing anybody. But Keith must realize it’s not something he wants to discuss, because he holds up the pair of tickets Rolo gave him.

            “Lance put us in the splash zone,” he says with a sigh. If the goal is to distract Shiro, it works. He frowns and reaches out to accept his ticket, which only has an unassuming seat number listed on it.

            “Do the otters really splash that much?” he asks. Keith steps forward to open the door for him, and follows behind Shiro after he’s stepped through.

            The inside of the building is wide and comfortably dark, with brown wood flooring and a high ceiling. There’s a wide L-shaped tank in the center of the lobby full of starfish, horseshoe crabs, and other critters for the children to touch and experience more personally. Some signs on the walls direct the way to the bathrooms and other aquarium sections. Keith points out the way to the show tank.

            “The tank’s set into the ground, so yeah,” he says. Shiro’s grateful he wore some older clothes then, but the possibility of having to walk around for the rest of the day with wet shoes is less than appealing. Keith falls into step with him, his stride loose and sure. He’s tucked a strand of hair behind his ear when Shiro wasn’t looking, and Shiro can’t help thinking he’d look nice with his hair pulled back.

            “So, your friend Lance is a trainer here?” Shiro asks. Keith looks up at him and shrugs.

            “Sort of. He works with the aquarium animals, feeding them and stuff. I don’t think he’s fully a zookeeper or anything though. It’s more like he’s in training to be one.”

            That makes sense. “I’d imagine it takes years before they let you be a zookeeper,” Shiro says. If it’s anything like being a vet or a doctor, then it’s twice as much schooling alone, not to mention the practice period.

            Keith nods and they turn down a hall, following the flow of visitors also coming to see the show. Wide windows on the right show an open-air viewing area with white bleachers set up around a high tank. Shiro catches a glimpse of what might be rings in the water, but the tank seems to be empty, and all of the people in this hall walk straight past the double doors leading out to that sitting area. Instead, up ahead, he sees a zoo worker standing by another door checking tickets. Shiro and Keith follow the flow over to him, and then are let in to a comfortably dark room with what looks almost like an in-ground pool taking up half the floor space. A low chain link fence runs around the perimeter of the pool.

            Their seats are ringside and fall right in the middle of a taped off section with splash warnings written on the ground. The floor is thankfully dry, but not for long. As the time for the show nears, the otters are brought into the show tank, swimming up from some hidden tunnel, and waste no time playing around and splashing water up through the fence.

            Lance and his coworker, Nyma, come out before long to begin the show, narrating and explaining the tricks they have their fuzzy co-stars perform. It’s nothing short of adorable. Within minutes, any lingering melancholy in Shiro has been chased off by the shrill squeaks of playful little weasels and their impressive talents. Lance walks them through putting inflated basketballs in little hoops and stacking cups inside one another, while Nyma explains the difference between river otters and sea otters. When Lance has the adorable performers do backflips to say goodbye, Shiro can’t find it in his heart to be annoyed at the thorough splashing he receives.

            “That was great,” he says to Keith when they make their way back to the lobby. “Lance really has a way with animals.”

            Keith grins at him, amusement pinching the corners of his eyes. “You’re really a sucker for animals, aren’t you,” he asks.

            Shiro smiles, feeling flustered from the way Keith’s eyes shine. There’s fondness there that isn’t usually present in so young a friendship. It makes him feel warm, nervous and excited at once. “You can’t tell me those otters weren’t adorable,” he says. Keith just keeps grinning at him, like he’s unearthed a secret.

            “I wouldn’t have pegged you as such a softie,” he says, “but you really love cute things.”

            ‘Well yeah, I’m friends with you,’ Shiro thinks to say, but catches it before the words find his tongue. It’s one thing to be attracted to a friend; it’s quite another to announce it.

            Keith’s phone buzzes. He ducks his head to read a text from Lance, then lets Shiro know Lance has finished his shift and wants to come out to lunch with them.

            “Sure. Lance seems fun,” Shiro says, holding the door open for Keith so he can send Lance a text back. A few beats later Keith says they’ve agreed to meet by the gift shop near the front gates.

            At first they mean to wait outside the cute shop, but Lance sends another message saying he’s running late, and they decide to roam around through the shop and peruse while they wait for him to finish up.

            They walk past novelty signs and t-shirts advertising the zoo. Keith points out a ridiculous cup, laughing at the bendy straw made to be the neck of a giraffe. Before long, Shiro’s eyes catch on the nearby rack of snow globes.

            He could get something for Allura while he’s here. She isn’t one for novelties, usually having a better sense for the tasteful versus the tacky than he tends to, but she’s always had a love for sparkly things. He looks through the collection of globes as Keith steps past him, moving further into the shop. Shiro ignores the globes with giant zoo logos, looking instead at the ones with animals in their natural habitats. There are wolves, elephants, tigers, all nestled in a thin layer of glitter, but the one he finally settles on is the pair of pandas playing amidst the bamboo. He picks the globe up and turns it over in his hand, watching the way the silvery glitter falls and catches pink and blue in the light. The sticker underneath says it’s 25 dollars. Shiro decides it’s worth it.

            He takes the globe with him and finds Keith over by the plush toys, idly looking through the collection. Shiro stops beside him and looks to see if Keith’s found anything worth taking, but he seems to just be shuffling through the smaller toys.

            “Do you think the kittens would like any of these?” he asks Shiro. Shiro tilts his head and considers the plushes. He picks one up, feeling its fur and the weight of it.

            “Maybe a smaller one, but they’d probably chew it up,” he says. Keith considers it for a moment before setting the lion in his hand back down on the pile.

            “There were some little keychain ones over there,” he says, gesturing behind Shiro. Shiro turns and finds the rack as Keith’s phone buzzes with another text.

            The display is cylindrical and turns, with little plush keychains hanging all down the rack. Shiro looks through for one that would best fit Red and her kittens. There are lots of aquatic animals – seals, dolphins, sharks – and a couple big cats, but none of them stick out to him. He turns the rack again and stops, eyes falling on the top plush.

            “Lance is outside,” Keith says, holding up his phone when Shiro turns to him.

            “You go ahead, I’m going to buy this.” He raises up the snow globe he picked out for Allura. Keith nods and turns to leave, saying, “We’ll wait outside,” as he goes.

            Shiro turns back to the rack and considers the plush, debating it. Would it be too much to buy something for someone so early in their relationship? It isn’t as though it’s an expensive gift… He’s over thinking this, he knows. He sighs to clear his head, then takes a deep breath to reset himself and stop psyching himself out. The keychains are only five bucks, so worst case scenario he can laugh it of as a joke, no harm no foul. Taking the plush, Shiro makes his way to the counter and tries not to imagine Matt bragging about his great advice.

            The cashier wraps his snow globe up in newspaper before putting it in the bag and Shiro asks her to keep the keychain separate from the globe.

            Keith and Lance are chatting on the path outside the shop when Shiro comes out. Lance sees him first and waves, stepping back to make room for him in the conversation. He’s changed out of his wetsuit and stands instead in jeans, shoving his hands into the pockets of a thick green jacket.

            “You ready to go?” he asks as Shiro falls into place beside him and Keith. The three of them set off down the path toward the main gates.

            “Yeah. Where do you guys want to eat?”

            “There’s a nice diner a few miles off,” Keith says, gesturing vaguely toward the road.

            Shiro smiles. “Sounds great. I’ll just follow you guys there.”

            They walk through the gates, Lance saying goodbye to the ticket sellers as they pass, and split off in the parking lot. Shiro walks with Keith to his bike and lingers there, pulling out the smaller bag from the gift shop before he can lose his nerve. Keith looks at the little bag, staring as he so often does, with an expression Shiro doesn’t know how to read.

            “You were looking for something for the cats,” Shiro says, resisting the urge to shift in place. Keith slowly drags his eyes up from the bag to Shiro’s eyes. Shiro hopes he can’t tell it’s a cover story, or how much Shiro’s been overthinking this.

            “You bought me something?” Keith says. Shiro nods and passes over the parcel. He tries not to watch too eagerly as Keith opens the bag, but the way his face changes when he sees the keychain sends a rush of pleased relief through him. Keith lifts the little plush up by the keyring, eyes wide and excited. “He’s so cute,” he says, grinning wide.

            “Something told me you liked hippos,” Shiro says, giving Keith a sly look when he glances up from the little plush. Keith laughs, soft and light, and turns the plush over in his hand.

            “Maybe a bit,” he says, returning the grin. Shiro snorts.

            “I’ll take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four should be coming to you on August 3rd, barring any dramatic life changes.
> 
> This chapter was a bit of a fight for me -- I don't think I'm that great at fluff, honestly -- but I hope you enjoyed it at least. I'm looking forward to the next one.
> 
> You can reblog this chapter [here](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/post/175627700155/titanium-brand), where I have a cute little title card and everything. You can also come gush with me about season 6 on my [tumblr](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Take care!


	4. (Found) Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro comes home to the rare sight of Allura sitting on the couch, tea and an ominous black binder lain out before her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> If you follow me on [tumblr](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/) then you know this already, but this installment is actually only half of what I originally wrote to be chapter 4. The scenes you're about to read wound up being twice as long as I anticipated, which made the first draft of this chapter entirely too long, so I decided to cut it in half. The next half will be coming at you real soon as chapter five, so all this means is you'll get two August updates instead of one! 
> 
> Shout out to [Anglophileslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophileslytherin/pseuds/Anglophileslytherin), who happily beta'd this chapter despite the fact that I threw it at her less than 24 hours ago. You are a true hero. 
> 
> Enjoy!~

            The following Tuesday Shiro comes home from Blaytz’s to find Allura sitting on their couch, elbows resting on her knees and chin settled in her palm. Her other hand is running through her hair, working out some tangle she’s caught it in. The tv is off. No steam curls out of the tea cup settled on the table in front of her, beside a thick black binder.

            Shiro eyes it. There’s already tension in the air before he’s even finished closing the door, and it narrows down to the thick pages set against the glass tabletop.

            He thinks, as he toes off his shoes and gently pushes the door to click shut, that it’s one of their photo albums. They have a handful of them, cultivated from his college hobby and Matt’s obsession with photoshop. They used to go through them together every now and then, sitting crosslegged and barefoot on the plush carpet, settling cups of chamomile beside plates of half eaten strawberry shortcake as they laughed at this lake trip or cooed over that hiking venture. It stings when Shiro realizes he isn’t sure which of the albums this one is, or which photos might be in it.

            Allura sighs when he opens the closet door. Shiro hears the soft sound of her arm hitting her knee as she sits up and shifts forward, towards him.

            “Can I talk to you?” she asks. It’s quiet and grave.

            He hesitates, paused midway through hanging up his coat. The weight of her tone has his stomach shriveling up, and an icy wave slides down his spine. The album, the quiet, the fading tan lines each of them wear on their left hands. There’s an elephant in the room, and it’s just sat on him.

            He swallows, hard, and tries to keep his voice even as he says, “Of course.” It takes him a few beats to close the closet door.

            She looks beyond stressed. In some ways, that’s a comfort, a sign that this isn’t easy for her. It’s proof there’s at least a remnant of the old passion and devotion between them still in her heart. Proof that it hasn’t all gone away. But given the circumstances, it almost hurts _more_ to see it. To know it won’t be enough.

            Shiro’s throat is tight when he takes a seat in the armchair beside the couch. He stares at his hands, folded between his knees, and focuses on breathing in and out.

            “I heard a rumor, recently,” she says. Shiro looks up, caught off guard. Allura is staring at the binder between them.

            His throat is too tight to speak, so he waits, anxious as to what she could have heard that would finally lead them to this.

            “Coran brought it to my attention, actually.” Coran, her lawyer. Inherited from her father, along with the company. “They’re saying we may have a leak.”

            She looks up, wringing her hands and seeking his eyes. Shiro isn’t sure what to say, or even what she means by that. Have the tabloids started gossiping? But how could they when Matt is the only one who really knows how things have changed between them? And furthermore, what interest is the married life of Altea Pharmaceuticals’ heir to gossip magazines?

            “What do you mean?” he asks at length. Allura closes her eyes, bracing herself for whatever she’s about to say. When she opens them again, there’s anger mixed with the stress.

            “There’s reason to believe that some of Altea’s research documents have been leaked, somehow.”

            Shiro’s overcome with the disorienting sensation of his heart lifting and his stomach dropping out simultaneously. This isn’t about them at all, it’s about a company disaster. But damage to the family company isn’t anything he should be feeling relieved about. He berates himself almost as soon as the feeling comes, sobering up against the selfish joy that welled in him, and forces himself to focus. A leak in the company. Slowly he shifts forward in his seat, eyes widening as the implications sink in.

            “Are you serious?” he asks, voice low, although he already knows by the bow of Allura’s back and the tangles in her hair.

            Allura runs one hand over the other and nods. Her eyes stay focused on the album in front of her.

            “Coran found an article in Olkari Press – apparently they were doing a report on upcoming improvements to Daibazal’s medications.” She grits her teeth against the company name, face darkening with a seething kind of hatred that Shiro can’t help but emphasize with, after hearing the details of that family’s history.

            Allura’s quiet for a long moment, glaring at the binder like it was a gift from Zarkon himself. Briefly, madly, Shiro wonders if they should check it, and the whole house at that, for hidden bugs. But that’s ridiculous – Allura’s hand in the company is mostly as an advisor, since she prefers her work as a surgeon to the duties of a CEO. Her cousin Romelle probably knows more about the company’s inner workings. It would be more profitable to spy on her, realistically speaking.

            Still, that doesn’t explain why Allura has the album out on the table. Unless she was seeking solace in it.

            Just because she doesn’t directly work for the company doesn’t mean it isn’t important to her. Her father built Altea Pharmaceuticals from the ground up, and named Allura its primary shareholder in his will. It’s his legacy. Shiro knows more than anyone just how important the company is to her.

            That’s why he raises out of his chair and moves to sit beside her on the couch. She’s already begun furiously picking at her cuticles, pinching loose skin at the sides of her nails and tugging, aggravated, until little droplets of red bubble up. Shiro takes her hands in a habit that is practically second nature, pulling them into his lap where she can’t do any more damage. Allura heaves a heavy sigh, forced to turn more toward him by the angle of her arms. He runs his thumbs soothingly over the backs of her hands.

            It’s the closest they’ve been in weeks. The thought is jarring and cuts through him, even as his chest fills with warm affection for the exhausted woman in front of him. He half expects her to lean into him, to settle her head on his chest and let him run his fingers through her rumpled hair. But there is a distinct physical distance between them, even as he traces the lines of her hands. Their legs don’t brush, her hands aren’t lax in his hold, and even with as vulnerable as she must feel, Allura’s eyes are guarded when she meets his.

            Shiro has to swallow hard before he can speak.

            “What exactly did the article say?”

            Allura shifts, taking back her right hand and leaning forward to flip open the binder.

            The first thing inside is a printed screenshot of an online article, which she lifts and hands over to him. Under it are not pictures of their past, as Shiro expected, but rather a photocopied image of some handwritten document he’s never seen before.

            “It wasn’t much,” Allura says. She shifts her fingers idly in his hand, and settles her right elbow against her knee to rest her chin in her palm. “Mostly they say Daibazal is reviewing several of its formulas all at once, which drew Olkari’s attention as they normally stagger such developments.”

            Shiro sees the section of the article she’s referring to and skims it, confirming the lack of details. There are only two drugs named in the whole paragraph, but reading them makes him clench his jaw, shoulders stiffening. He sees now why Allura looked so outraged.

            “‘Head chemist and heir to the Daibazal company, Lotor Daibazal, also revealed that the company’s founding drug, Galra, has been undergoing severe revisions. After further testing, developments, and FDA approval, Galra users can expect to find a new and improved formula that is longer lasting, involves significantly fewer side effects for the majority of patients, and will, ideally, be on par with the similar drug Voltron which is currently on the market. Voltron is manufactured by Daibazal’s primary competitor, Altea, and while more expensive, is typically favored by 8 out of 10 physicians to Galra. Both drugs are used to treat paralysis in narcoleptic patients.’”

            Shiro sets down the article and looks back at Allura.

            “They’re trying to steal Voltron.”

            She nods, angry tears shining in the corners of her eyes.

            “I’m certain they must have gotten a hold of our formula somehow. I just don’t know how or when it could have happened. I asked Romelle to send me copies of all of our formulas, as well as lists of anyone who could have had access to them. But if any of these are forgeries,” she gestures at the binder, “then they are perfectly manufactured. And without further details, it’s simply impossible—”

            Her voice cracks, high and fractured as she finally begins to cry. Shiro slides closer, immediately moving to wrap his arm around her shoulders. But Allura pulls away with a near flinch, shaking her head and motioning for him to keep his distance.

            “I, I can’t, Shiro. Not now. Please.”

            It stings, like cutting himself on jagged glass. A sharp slice that leaves an awful burning in its wake, tingling through his skin in the worst of ways. Shiro draws his hands into his lap and folds them, bowing his head like a guilty child. It shouldn’t be this way. It shouldn’t be crossing a boundary to comfort his wife. The word ‘wife’ shouldn’t sound so heavy, so awkward, to his mind.

            That Allura turned to him to vent her stress is a blessing to him, and it shouldn’t be. The thought settles slow and heavy in him, like a weight in the ocean, sinking down to the floor. He was surprised that the woman he loves sought him out, when the ring in their bedroom, in his wallet, says she loves him with all her heart. How long will it be before she finds she can’t?

            He wants Allura’s choice to confide in him to be a sign of improvement. Proof that they really did just need some space between them to breathe and reassess the chaos that life can become, proof that the passion they once had really will return. But even as they sit side by side, the distance between them yawns like an open abyss.

            Suddenly he grows restless. Unable to stand sitting still beside her as she cries out in frustration. He turns to the coffee table instead and reaches forward, cautiously taps his fingers against Allura’s cup of tea. It’s ice cold, as he suspected.

            “How long ago did you make this?” he murmurs. Allura sniffs and lifts her head from where it’s drooped between her shoulders.

            “Hm?” Her voice is still watery, but her expression is strong. Determined, even in the face of this travesty. He loves her.

            "Oh, I made it... I'm not certain. Perhaps an hour ago? There ought to be more water in the kettle if you'd like some."

            Shiro smiles. Longs to kiss her. "I was going to make you a fresh cup." He rises slowly from the couch, looping two fingers through the delicate handle of the china cup. Allura smiles sheepishly as she rubs tears out of her eyes.

            "Well, in that case," she says quietly. Her eyes are grateful when she lowers her hands and looks up at him. "That would be lovely of you."

            There's a beat, where he almost thinks he heard a 'Darling', thinks she almost meant to say it. He stretches his smile wider to fill the silent space where it should have been. Allura tugs a loose strand of hair down from her shoulders and begins to comb her fingers through, and the moment passes. Shiro carries the cup into the kitchen and goes about brewing her more tea.

            His phone buzzes in his pocket just as he sets the infuser ball into the cup. Leaning against the counter, Shiro pulls it out and opens a message from Keith.

            [reds in the closet. kitten pics soon]

            His stomach flips. If she's gone into hiding, she must be going into labor. The excitement of new life, and the chance to finally know what her babies will look like, is almost enough to distract Shiro from the situation at hand. He shoots back an excited text and spends a few minutes staring at the screen, tapping it every time it threatens to fade to black. Keith's timestamp says he's seen the message, but he doesn't reply, most likely busy fretting over Red.

            The sound of Allura shifting on the couch snaps Shiro out of it. He closes out the phone and sets it in his pocket, moving to pull the hot little metal ball of tea leaves out of the cup, setting it on the counter with a _chink_. A dash of milk and no sugar, just how she likes it. The cup is hot and the handle delicate, which makes it hard to carry with his left hand, but he doesn't trust his prosthetic not to drop the whole thing on the floor. Or grip too tight and crack the china.

            Allura's left the couch by the time Shiro carefully sets the cup on the coffee table. But her binder of files is still there, and when Shiro looks over his shoulder he sees she's standing by the fireplace, tracing her fingers over the mantle.

            Every house always seems to have a specific place that's cluttered with pieces of the owners' lives. At his mother’s it was the left wall of the living room, where she hung his every school picture, one after the other, until it looked like a timeline hovering over shelves of knickknacks and sports trophies. At his grandfather's there was the bookshelf by his rickety old writing desk. Pictures of Shiro's mom at various stages of her life, from when she was a toddler up to a picture of her holding Shiro as an infant, both their smiles wide and bright. There were also pictures of his grandfather in his military uniform, and then, years later, Shiro in his. That picture sits on the mantle here as well, their own cluttered space, among the other fragments of their lives spread out like a mosaic. Allura traces the smooth curves of her set of glass mice, eyes distant. Shiro keeps quiet as he steps up beside her. The picture of Alfor smiles over the four little mice, warm and proud.

            The room is silent, aside from the white noise of the heating system. Allura's eyes are pained as she stares at her father's picture, worrying her lower lip. Shiro guesses she must be feeling guilty. That she blames herself for the damage to come. He tries to find the words to reach out to her, to comfort her and tell her this isn't her fault. But there's a reverence to the quiet that feels too sacred to break. This isn't his place.

            So he waits, hovering at the edge of the mantle, while Allura faces her father on her own.

            After several minutes, she sighs and dips her head, conceding to something private. Shiro runs a hand along the edge of the stone shelf to stave off the urge to wrap it around her shoulders. The silence loses its edge gradually as Allura slides her thumbs along the edge of the mantle and raises her gaze, turning her attention away from the old photo.

            There's an array of framed pictures of the two of them spread out across the other side of the smooth stone. Some feature other friends, like the lake picture with Thace laughing at Ulaz and Matt giving Shiro bunny ears. Others are solos; a romantic candid shot Matt snuck during a Christmas party a few years ago, or Shiro's first selfie with the professional camera Allura bought him for his birthday. She's a little blurry in that one, captured mid-laugh beside him. Beautiful, frozen in time. It's one of his favorites, nestled in beside an especially moving holiday card from his grandfather and a smooth shell from the lake shore. But the place of honor on the mantle goes to their wedding photo, encompassed by its ornate silver frame and standing taller than all the others. It's there that Allura's gaze lands and softens.

            Shiro feels the vibration of his phone in his pocket. His heart picks up pace, a small buzz of anticipation shivering through him with the thought that this could be the long awaited picture. He can feel the itch to plunge his hand into his pocket and pull up the image. He could even show it to Allura, and take her mind off of everything with an adorable intermission. But somehow that feels wrong. Invalidating to her and her worries and dismissive of her problems. It would be like he was ignoring her, prioritizing some fledgling friend's new pet over his wife's familial crisis. So he stills the hand against his leg, aborting its journey to his phone, and scans Allura's face. Searching, again, for some comforting words light enough to slide into the silence.

            It's Allura who speaks first. Reaching across the mantle to trace the inscription at the base of the snow globe resting beside the photo, she says, "I really do appreciate this." Her voice is quiet, gentle with the heavy silence wrapped around them, and tinged with something sad.

            The panda bears are frozen in play, paws raised but paused. There's a bit of glitter resting on the taller one's head. Settled there from when Allura first unwrapped it and smiled at the sparkly 'snow fall' when she flipped it around.

            "It seemed like the kind of thing you'd like," Shiro says. Allura hums, a soft almost agreement, and offers the globe a small, would be smile. It does nothing to change the sad curl of her brows, nor the longing pain in her eyes. Shiro can't bear to call that look 'regret'.

            There's another buzz in his pocket that he ignores while she runs her finger over the pandas' clear dome. He doesn't want to know what thoughts run through her mind, doesn't want confirmation to his fears. He pulls away, turning back to the coffee table, where her binder still rests.

            "Your tea will go cold," he murmurs. She shifts beside him.

            "Ah, yes. Thank you very much."

            They both linger by the mantle for a few beats more, paused in time like the other pieces of their lives.

 

            Keith's picture shows off four teeny tiny kittens nestled up against Red's belly. There's a soft grey tabby, a pair of sandy colored ones, and a solid black kitten at the end. Leaning back against the headboard of the guest bed, Shiro pours over the picture for a few minutes, taking in every little detail. Especially their itty bitty toe beans. He saves the picture to his phone before tapping out a reply, grinning like an idiot at the tiny balls of messy fluff.

            [They're precious!]

            This time, Keith's quick to reply.

            [i figured ud say that]

            [I love them.]

            Shiro scrolls up to smile at the newborns' picture again. They're all so tiny!

            [Have you named them?] he asks.

            [not yet]

            He grins at his phone, a proxy for Keith, as he teases. [You can't name them all after their colors. Two of them would have the same name.] He imagines Keith reading the text and rolling his eyes, playfully irked. It makes him laugh a little, especially when Keith replies.

            [the smaller one in the middle is brown irl. bad lighting in here]

            [You're not denying that that was your plan.]

            Keith, Shiro is learning, is a very simple and very practical man. It probably wouldn't be that out of the ordinary for him to name his cats by number, which would be kind of hilarious. Shiro's chest tightens with affection, both at the tiny babies and their spartan owner. The easy banter and sweet picture help chase out the ache that nestled its way inside after his earlier encounter in the living room.

            [yeah, well see] Keith says. Shiro snorts and opens his other message. This one is from Matt.

            [Yo, so birthday plans! You gonna RSVP?]

            Shiro snorts again. Matt still texts like a wannabe frat boy from a cliché movie. The only things more ridiculous are his emoji moods.

            [Aren't I a VIP?]

            [RSVIP]

            Shiro shakes his head.

            [You can't just mash those together. But yes, I'll come. Wouldn't miss it for the world.]

            [Sweet! We're gonna have a blast!!!]

            Shiro smiles and glances across the room at his dresser, where Matt's gift is already nestled in a bag under tissue paper. In truth, he has been looking forward to the weekend's party for a while now.

            [ I invited Allura, but she has to work :'( Which means your down a +1]

            He raises an eyebrow at that and shifts in the bed. It's getting late. He should remove his prosthetic soon.

            [Since when are there plus ones? Is this a company picnic?]

            Matt sends him a GIF of a girl sticking her tongue out, which he chooses to interpret as 'ha ha very funny'. A few seconds later it's followed with [ThUlaz are too busy, so it'd be a sad party with just you me & Katie]

            Shiro's fast enough to type out [Don't call them ThUlaz] before Matt sends more.

            [So I invited Hunk from work & he invited his gf & KT added a guy so you should bring you kno who]

            Shiro does not like the implications there. He tries to deflect, asking [Katie has a boyfriend now?] and saves a Voldemort joke as his backup plan.

            [Eeeeeeeeeeeww no! He's a dude from hs, one of those 'OMG girls can have guy friends, Matt!' ppl. Just a bro]

            That sounds like a suspicious amount of denial, but it also sounds like it's for Matt's sake, not Shiro's. That, at least, is comforting.

            [So anyway! If Katie's bringing a bro you should too!]

            Shiro rolls his neck, trying to let out some of the tension there. Matt's concern for him and excitement over the recent development to his social life is heartwarming, of course. Shiro's lucky to have that kind of enthusiastic support. But sometimes Matt can really be too much of a big brother. It's never been something Shiro's really sure how to navigate, being an only child, and sometimes he has to remind himself it's coming from a good place. It's one of the ways Matt shows his love, even if it feels a bit... meddlesome.

            [I'll ask Keith] Shiro says, because it feels silly to keep acting like they aren't talking about a very specific plus one. [No promises though.]

            [Good enough 4 me!] Matt says, and then [Gotta hit the hay. Big projects, top secret. Be ready to Par-Tay!]

            Shiro laughs and swipes back to his conversation with Keith.

            He goes through a few drafts, not sure how to start the invitation. It's not as though Keith knows Matt, and being invited as a plus one to strangers' parties can be pretty awkward. But then, their zoo trip wasn't bad, and in essence this is pretty much the same thing, isn't it?

            He finally settles for [Are you busy Saturday afternoon?] and tries not to cringe after he hits send. That sounds a bit like he's asking him on a date, doesn't it? But there's no reason for Keith to assume that. And if Shiro tries to send more to clarify then it'll probably just turn into another foot meets mouth moment of awkwardness. So he grits his teeth and waits, staring at the agonizing ellipses that says Keith is typing a reply.

            [no y? wanna do smthn?]

            Shiro lets out a breath and types back. [My friend Matt has been begging me to introduce you. He's having a birthday party Saturday. He wants you to come.]

            There's an uncomfortably long gap of time between the 'seen' notice and the return of the ellipses. Shiro spends the time fidgeting with his arm and failing to ignore the glowing numbers on the bedside clock, anxiously tapping his phone to keep it from going to sleep.

            Finally, Keith says [like lance & the zoo?]

            Shiro smiles and latches onto that. [Yeah, pretty much. You can say no, obviously. I just promised I'd ask.]

            After a beat, Keith says [what kind of party?] and Shiro's anxiety eases off.

            [An arcade thing. One of the adult ones, with a bar and tight rope jungle gym things. You don't need to bring a gift or anything -- he's mostly invested in goofing around.]

            Despite the fact that Matt basically pressured him into it, Shiro can't help the little swirl of excitement he feels when Keith replies with [sure. sounds interesting. lmk when & where].

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter five is nearly finished and should be coming to you sometime in the next week or two. Sheith Month took a lot of my time and energy, so I'm a little behind, but no worries!
> 
> Chapter six is scheduled to go up September 7th. 
> 
> If there are ever any progress updates or changes to schedule, I post about it on my [tumblr](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/), so feel free to come say hi. I'm on a mini hiatus right now in order to avoid season 7 spoilers, but I'll be back as soon as it drops. (And I always tag my spoilers, so don't worry).   
> You can also reblog this chapter and its title card [here](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/post/176590643305/titanium-brand).
> 
> Thank you for reading.~


	5. The Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt’s long awaited birthday party finally rolls around, with more than a few surprises in store for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
> So, I'm late. Last chapter I mentioned that chapter five (this one) would be coming really soon, but here we are almost four weeks later. I'm sorry about that. Some major life events came up, including a period of mourning, so for a while I didn't do much of anything. I still haven't even watched season 7! But I'm back on the horse so to speak and excited to finally bring this chapter to you.
> 
> If it helps, this one is over 7k long. Hopefully you guys can forgive me for cutting the last one short, now! 
> 
> Many thanks to [Anglophileslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophileslytherin/pseuds/Anglophileslytherin) for the beta work.
> 
> Enjoy~

            Shiro arrives a bit early to the arcade and waits outside until Keith pulls up on his bike. He waves after Keith’s gotten his helmet off, and Keith smiles and returns the gesture, keys clinking against each other. The little hippo Shiro bought him bats against his wrist with the motion, entirely too cute in the hands of someone wearing so much leather. Shiro’s chest goes tight at the sight.

            There’s a red scarf wound around Keith’s neck, but otherwise his cold weather outfit hasn’t changed from what he wore to the zoo. When he reaches for the door handle, Shiro notices his fingers are pink where they peek out of his gloves. He can’t imagine it’s easy to keep a grip on the handlebars if your fingers are that cold.

            “Is it hard to steer with full gloves?” he asks inside.

            Keith adjusts the strap on the back of his hand and shrugs, looking up at Shiro and then over to the woman at the front counter.

            “I guess. I’ve never really tried. I don’t like not being able to feel things.”

            It’s a fair enough answer, so Shiro shrugs, a silent ‘suit yourself’, and leads the way to the counter. They pay for entry, have their ID’s checked, and are given paper bracelets to prove they’re allowed in before they’re sent on their way.

            Two thirds of the building is the true arcade, filled with machines and other entertainment. Tucked in the far end is what they’re calling an adult jungle gym, where attendants strap guests into rock climbing gear and send them up to test their skills on suspended balance beams and rope ladders. But Matt said he’d meet up with everyone by the bar, first, so Shiro points Keith away from the games and toward the other third of the building – a large seating area sandwiched between the bar and grill and a small square stage.

            “People do shows here?” Keith asks. There’s a cute pinch to his brow that gets Shiro smiling without really meaning to.

            “It’s more like karaoke I think,” he says. He’s never stayed for it himself, but Matt’s tried to convince him a few times. Shiro absolutely cannot sing and Matt knows it.

            They find Matt in a corner booth with his sister, both laughing at something she’s pulled up on her phone. Shiro raises his free hand to get their attention, gift bag tapping against his leg, but when Katie notices him her eyes immediately go wide.

            “Hey,” Shiro says. He sets the bag on the table and turns to ask Katie if she’s okay.

            “ _Keith?!_ ” she yells before he so much as opens his mouth.

            “ _Pidge?!_ ” Keith actually takes a step back, like the presence of Matt’s younger sister put an invisible wall right in front of him.

            Matt, whose attention had fallen eagerly on the blue gift bag, snaps his head up to look from Katie to Keith and back. They all look every bit as surprised and confused as Shiro feels.

            “Wait, you know him?” Matt asks Katie.

            At the same time, Katie asks Keith, “You know Shiro?”

            And partway through their questions, Keith asks, “What are you doing here?”

            Shiro is at a complete loss for words.

            Matt starts cracking up. “Wait, wait, wait, so Shiro, your–” His long snicker cuts him off, which is probably for the best, because for a gut-wrenching moment Shiro was terrified he was about to say ‘boyfriend’, which would be mortifying.

            Quickly, before Matt regains himself enough to speak, Shiro turns to Keith.

            “So you and Katie know each other?”

            He pulls out a chair across from Matt to sit, and after a moment Keith follows suit. Matt’s snickering is almost as loud as the obnoxious pop music coming through distant speakers, but the scrape of chair legs on faux wood helps block it out.

            “Yeah,” Keith says after he’s seated. He crosses his arms on the table and leans forward, nodding at Katie. “Pidge – uh, Katie…” Her given name is awkward on his tongue. Katie frowns and Keith’s eyes dart over to her, unsure.

            “Pidge,” she says.

            “Pidge,” Keith repeats. “Pidge and I went to high school together.”

            “Different grades, though.”

            Matt pouts at her. “What, I’m not allowed to call you Pidge, but your high school buddies can? Where’s the justice in that, Katherine?”

            Shiro laughs as she scrunches her face at the full name.

            “Well someone had to call me that after you left. It was too weird without it.”

            “Oh, excuse me for getting a higher education.” Matt’s tone is offended, but Shiro can tell he’s barely holding back a smile.

            Katie rolls her eyes hard, dropping her head to the side for added emphasis. “You can call me Pidge too if you want,” she sighs. Matt crosses his arms.

            “Maybe I don’t want to anymore.”

            “Then why are you making a big deal about it?!”

            Keith shifts awkwardly in his chair while Shiro stifles his laughter.

            He leans over to Keith and says quietly, “They’re always like this.”

            Keith sounds genuinely at a loss when he asks, “ _Why?_ ”

            Shiro shrugs. “It’s a sibling thing I guess. I wouldn’t know, I’m an only child.”

            “Yeah, same.”

            The Holts calm down after a few more minutes of play fighting. Matt goes back to eying Shiro’s gift bag as if he can determine its contents just by staring at it, while Katie turns to Keith.

            “So, since when have you been dating Shiro?”

            Shiro’s ears burn. He jerks his head in Katie’s direction, eyes wide, and Matt starts cracking up. Keith makes a choked sound in the back of his throat while Shiro stutters out a denial.

            “Um, no, no we’re not…” He gestures across the table, too embarrassed and flustered to repeat her. Katie shoots him a confused look. Shiro looks to Keith for help.

            Keith is bright red. It sends a second wave of embarrassed heat down through Shiro’s chest and darkens his blush.

            “I’m not dating him!” Keith cries. His eyes are so wide he looks frightened, and he leans across the table like he’s pleading with her. Katie frowns at him, and then at her brother, who’s pink in the face for an entirely different reason.

            “Matt made it sound like Shiro was bringing a date,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him. Matt tries desperately to hold in his laughter, squirming in his seat, and Shiro buries his face in his hands. If only God would take pity on him.

            “I mean, I mean,” Matt tries, but that’s as far as he gets before his laughter swallows him up again.

            Shiro peeks through his fingers. Matt is half slumped over the table, laughing himself red in the face, and Katie is frowning at him. Keith has slumped down in his seat and crossed his arms, staring intently at the condiments on the edge of the table. It takes Shiro a moment to realize the deepest red on his lower face is actually his scarf, tugged up over his nose. That ruins the otherwise brooding look. Slouched down and hiding in his scarf, Keith looks flustered and sweet more than anything else. The image nearly shorts out Shiro’s higher brain functions, much in the same way as Too Cute marathons, and the urge to wrap an arm around him is intense.

            “Uh, what did we miss?” someone says at Shiro’s right. He turns and sees a tall, broad set man holding a cake in a plastic carrier and giving them all a confused smile. The round faced woman holding onto his arm looks between the four of them with mild concern.

            “We’re sorry we’re late,” she says. “There was traffic on the way.”

            Shiro drops his hands from his face and does his best to ignore the fading heat of his blush. He smiles and offers his left hand to the woman. She steps forward to take it.

            “Hi, I’m Shiro.”

            “Shay. It’s nice to meet you.”

            The man steps forward to ease the large cake onto the table. Up close Shiro can see it looks homemade, but impressively so.

            “I’m Hunk,” the man says. “Matt’s talked a lot about you.”

            Shiro grins and shakes his hand as well.

            They all turn at the sound of metal scraping on the floor behind Shiro. Keith’s jumped to his feet, leaning bodily over the table and tugging his scarf down. He’s staring at Hunk, eyes wide, and Shiro’s hit with a flash of déjà vu.

            “Was _everyone_ invited to this party except for me?”

            “You know Hunk?” Shiro asks.

            “School,” Katie answers for him, while Hunk reaches out to grip Keith’s shoulders and tugs him forward into a half hug over the tabletop.

            “Perhaps you should walk around the table,” Shay suggests.

            “Holy crow, man, I can’t believe I didn’t see you brooding in the corner! You haven’t changed at all!”

            “I changed a bit,” Keith grumbles, but he lets Hunk hold him in their awkward position. But then he scowls. “I get that this is Pidge’s brother, but why the hell are you here? She invited you but not me?”

            Shiro glances at Matt through the gap between the hugging friends and the table. There’s a tiny lilt to the end of Keith’s sentence that makes him sound a little hurt. Like a child left out of a birthday party – which, actually, is exactly the case here. Shiro winces. He doesn’t want to see his new friend have a falling out with old friends over this freak combination of coincidences, but even more so, he doesn’t want Matt’s birthday to be ruined by it. Matt gives him an awkward almost-frown and shrugs, shaking his head. Neither of them know what to do about the situation.

            To his right, Katie stands up and sets her hand on Keith’s shoulder. Shiro sees she was given a dark X across the back of it for being under 21.

            “You _were_ invited, Keith,” she starts. Keith throws out a hand toward Shiro.

            “Yeah, by _him_.”

            “Well, Matt invited me,” Hunk says.

            “Yeah. I didn’t know Hunk was coming until this morning. If I’d known that I would have invited you too when I invited Lance.”

            “Wait, Lance is coming?”

            Based on everything Shiro knows about Lance from their meeting a week ago, he more than half expects him to show up right then, as if summoned. But no one approaches the table except for Shay, who pulls out a chair for herself beside Shiro and offers him a shy smile, which he returns.

            It feels a little like overhearing a friend’s parents lecturing them, watching the three of them sort out the how and why of every coincidence that led them to this point. It’s awkward, and Shiro wants to offer help, but it’s decidedly not his place to get involved with this. He drums his fingers on the table and flashes Matt another lost glance, not sure what to do with himself. This time, Matt seems to take it as an instruction.

            He stands up and clears his throat until Katie, Hunk, and Keith all turn to him. “So, are there candles with this cake, or what?”

            Keith looks at Katie, who shrugs, and they both look at Hunk. He jumps a little and then turns to Shay, saying, “Oh, right! Uh, Shay’s got them in her purse. …Right?”

            Shay nods and sets her bag on the table, rifling through it to pull out a pair of numbered candles. “I believe I have a lighter in here as well.”

            Katie and Keith sit back down in their seats, while Hunk settles in the booth beside Matt. He gestures at the cake.

            “It’s a buttercream frosting – I hope that’s okay.”

            Matt looks at him like he’s just said he isn’t sure if anyone likes chocolate.

            “Dude, it looks awesome. You’re like the best chef I know. It’ll be great.”

            Hunk grins and dips his head, pink at the tops of his cheeks. “Aw, I’m just glad I got to make this for you.”

            There’s a clatter of hurried footsteps behind Shiro when Shay pulls out her lighter and taps it on the table.

            “Found it!”

            “I’m so sorry I’m late!”

            Lance stumbles to a stop, catching himself on the table when his inertia carries him forward. Once he’s stable he raises his head and finds himself face to face with Hunk, who grins and waves.

            “Hi.”

            “Wha— Hunk? You didn’t tell me Hunk was coming too!”

            Shiro helps Shay get the lid off the cake and set up the candles while the others explain for a third time how they all came to be here. By the time Lance is pulling up a chair at the side of the table, everything is set up and ready to go.

            They sing Happy Birthday and divvy up the cake, which Shiro learns is in fact amazing. Hunk is complimented six times over, and then Katie threatens Matt with Birthday Punches – “Don’t forget an extra one for good luck!” – and soon they’re on to opening presents.

            Matt surveys his collection of gifts much like a ten year old boy, excited and eager. He starts with the light yellow box Hunk and Shay brought, which turns out to hold some kind of kit for building a small robot out of what looks to Shiro like primarily Legos. He doesn’t quite understand the appeal, but it must be an engineer thing because Matt seems thrilled with the prospect. He and Hunk gush over various features while Katie looks on with a fond but amused expression. Lance mouths ‘what’s happening?’ at Shiro and Keith, but Shiro just shrugs and Keith shakes his head. No clue.

            Lance also brought his present in a blue gift bag, so once Matt’s finished geeking out over the DIY kit he spends a long thirty seconds trying to choose between the two deep blue packages.

            “Eenie, meenie, minie, this one,” he says at length, and snatches up the closest bag. He checks the tag but doesn’t announce who’s gift it is, so for a brief moment there’s an extra level of suspense in the air around the table. White tissue paper is tugged out of the bag and piled onto the table, a loud mess threatening to spill over. Then Matt pulls out a game case Shiro doesn’t recognize.

            “Celeste,” Matt reads. “It looks cool.”

            “Yeah, it’s kind of an indie game, but Pidge said you have a lot of the mainstream stuff already, and I’ve actually played this one before.” Lance leans forward, animated and gesturing at the cover. “It’s got the old school style art, but the settings are gorgeous and the story’s great.”

            Shiro glances over at Keith while Lance goes on to explain how his game is “Basically the Dark Souls of platformers,” and frowns.

            Keith is hunched up into himself, sunken into his chair and staring at the edge of the table, where he traces a crack in the paint with an index finger. He’s clearly uncomfortable, and Shiro gets the impression that he’s feeling out of place, which is odd considering he’s surrounded by high school friends. Shiro looks quickly around the table to be sure they’re all still paying attention to Matt and Lance, then leans over so he can speak quietly with Keith.

            “Are you okay?”

            Keith doesn’t exactly flinch. He shrinks down into himself and meets Shiro’s eyes for a beat, then looks back at where his nail catches on the ridge of chipped paint.

            “Just… awkward,” he mumbles.

            Shiro glances up at the sound of crinkling paper. Matt is still engrossed in conversation with Lance as he stuffs handfuls of tissue paper into the gift bag for safekeeping. Keith breaks off a piece of hardened paint and continues.

             “Feel like I should’ve brought something.”

            Guilt churns in Shiro’s stomach. He’d told Keith Matt wouldn’t care – and Matt really doesn’t – because he figured it would take the pressure off. It’s awkward trying to shop for presents for someone you don’t know. But apparently the plan to spare Keith from an uncomfortable situation blew up in his face, because now he’s the only one without something to give. Even Hunk had the good sense to present his gift as being from both him and Shay, rather than leave her floating in the random stranger abyss that comes with being a plus one. If Shiro had put in a little forethought, he could have done the same for Keith.

            He’s still beating himself up over it when Matt pulls over his present, taking a moment to pause and shoot Shiro a conspiratory grin, like he already knows whatever is in this bag will be good. There was plenty of room on the tag for Shiro to have added on Keith’s name. Why didn’t he think to do that?

            The gift itself is a set of manga – specifically, the most recent volumes Matt’s been missing from his collection. His face lights up in a way that sends both pride and chagrin running through Shiro’s chest. He’s pleased Matt’s excited, and disappointed in himself for missing the chance to bring Keith in on it.

            “Sweet!” Matt says. “How’d you know I didn’t have these yet?”

            “I asked Katie to find out for me,” Shiro says. Matt turns to his sister, who waves smugly.

            “You mean you were lying when you said you wanted to know more about My Hero?!”

            Katie snorts and pats Matt on the arm. “I’ll get into it one day, I promise.”

            “That’s what you said about One Piece,” Matt huffs. He turns back to the manga and leafs through it, quickly becoming absorbed.

            “You still have another gift,” Shay says, reaching out to tap Katie’s small addition to the spread. The wrapping is a little haphazard, but the alien print more than makes up for that.

            “Ah, yeah, sorry,” Matt says and sets the manga down. He pushes aside the tissue paper from Shiro’s bag, letting Lance start to gather it up before it spills off the table. “Just, you know, saving the best for last.”

            “Supposedly those UFO’s glow in the dark,” Katie says. Matt’s eyes go wide.

            “Wait, seriously? That’s so cool!” He changes his approach from tearing and shredding to carefully seeking out the places Katie taped the green wrapping down, gingerly undoing every flap.

            The suspense heightens with every passing pull of tape. Lance looks like he’s actually on the edge of his seat, and even Keith has stopped picking at the table to watch the unveiling of Katie’s messily wrapped gift.

            When Matt finally catches sight of his prize, his face breaks out with a full grin.

            “Holy crap, awesome!” Katie preens under the praise, smiling up at her older brother. “I’ve literally only heard good things about this.”

            “What is it?” Keith asks, leaning up out of his slump to try and see.

            “Detroit: Become Human,” Lance says. Keith whistles low and gives Katie an approving look.

            “Only the best and all that,” she says. Matt hugs her. “Happy birthday, you nerd.”

            They go through another chorus of happy birthdays and then help Matt sort out his giftwrap mess. Shiro offers his help in bringing the gifts out to Matt’s car, and then they all head for the arcade section of the place, chatting happily about their gaming plans.

            An odd light passes through Matt’s eyes as they walk, and he slows down, tugging at Shiro’s arm to bring him with him. After a moment they’re a fair bit behind the others.

            “Hey,” he says, and pauses to watch their friends, making sure they keep going. It seems like Keith and Katie are too engrossed in a conversation to notice that the people beside them have suddenly vanished. Satisfied, Matt turns back. “Be honest with me.”

            “Okay.” Shiro frowns. Matt’s got a hand on his arm and the same look in his eye that he gets when he’s trying not to lecture Shiro on how to live his life. It’s a cautious, tempered concern that has Shiro on his guard.

            Matt leans in a bit and lowers his voice, so that Shiro has to bend his neck to hear. “I know you guys said you’re not dating, but…”

            Shiro pulls back, uncomfortable with where this is going. Matt searches his face with gentle eyes carefully void of any judgement, but that in itself is a judgement.

            “You two seem close, for having just met a few weeks ago, is all.”

            It’s not all, but it’s as much as Matt can get away with saying before he crosses into impolite territory. They both know what he’s thinking.

            Shiro pulls Matt’s hand off of him and tries not to scowl. “I’m _married_ , Matt. Which you apparently forgot to tell Katie.” That or he told his sister that Shiro and Allura were separated, which is worse.

            His mistake, apparently, is not opening with a solid denial of what Matt’s implying.

            “You two are on a break,” Matt says gently. Shiro gives him a hard look, because that fact is beside the point – all of this is beside the point. Matt raises his hands for peace, taking a short breath in and letting it out in a sigh.

            “Look, I’m not judging you. All I’m trying to say is… I understand.”

            “No, you don’t.”

            “Shiro.” Shiro crosses his arms and gives Matt a stern, impatient look. Matt narrows his eyes, irritated. “You and I both know things have been bad between you and her for a while now. The last time I saw you two together was around your birthday.”

            “They’re not ‘bad’, we’ve just been a little distant.” That’s a bold face lie, of course, but Shiro’s too defensive to care. “Work keeps her busy, since the promotion.”

            Matt gives him a soft look that falls too close to pity. Shiro swallows hard and holds his gaze, unwavering even if it means gritting his teeth.

            “It’s not just a little,” Matt says softly. Under the high trills of arcade machines and quick pulsed beat of the radio, Shiro almost misses it. “Every time I see you, things are only worse.” He opens his mouth to say more, but stops, visibly rethinking his words.

            Shiro’s glare cracks down into something more pathetic. Matt’s right, of course. The last time he and Allura even kissed was ages before she came to him and asked they give each other space. He knows the kind of trajectory they’re on no matter how desperately he wants things to improve.

            It’s just… “Even so, I… it wouldn’t be right to get involved with someone else before we’re even divorced.”

            Matt puts his hand back on Shiro’s arm, and Shiro lets him. It’s the first time he’s referenced a divorce with such surety, but Matt doesn’t look surprised. Just sympathetic. In a way that’s worse.

            “I’m sorry,” he says. It could be sorry for what he’s said, or sorry for the whole situation. Or both. “I’m not trying to tell you to cheat on your wife. I just hate seeing you… unhappy.” ‘Miserable,’ he means.

            “I’m okay. I’ve been doing better lately.” The voice in the back of Shiro’s mind pitches in that ‘lately’ and ‘since I met Keith’ are conveniently one and the same thing, but he tries his best to drown it out.

            “Have you tried asking Allura?”

            “Asking her what?”

            “If she’d be okay with it.”

            Shiro stares at Matt. He’s not sure he’s getting the right meaning out of that.

            “If she’d be okay with what?”

            Matt doesn’t answer him, just raises his brows in a way that says he should know the answer to that.

            “You’re… you’re telling me to ask my wife _permission_ to see someone else?” Shiro pauses to give Matt the chance to deny it, but he says nothing. His silence should make Shiro angry, and it does, but more than anything he finds he’s at a loss. “What the hell?” he asks softly.

            Matt draws in a heavy breath, then sighs it out, dipping his head. They’ve been away from the group for a while now. Sooner or later someone’s going to come looking for them, to see why Matt isn’t out there enjoying his own birthday party. It hits Shiro then that this really isn’t the time or place for this argument.

            Will it ever be?

            Matt looks back up, a bit of guilt in his eyes. A silent recognition that he’s pushed the boundaries too far. But the fraternal concern is still there, and when he speaks, it’s in a gentle, urging tone.

            “You two are on a break,” he says again. He raises a hand when Shiro opens his mouth to protest. “I know she wants you to be happy, even if things aren’t working out for you two. Do you think that… maybe the reason she suggested you guys take some space apart was for your sake?”

            Shiro’s quiet for a long moment, processing that. It still doesn’t feel right, to be involved with someone else when legally he’s still bound to her, when deep in his heart he still wants things to work out for them. But as much as he doesn’t want to, he can see some truth to Matt’s point.

            “Hey, Matt!” Katie calls from behind Shiro. They both turn to face her. “What are you doing?”

            “Sorry, got caught up!” Matt calls back, light and easy like they weren’t just having a serious argument. Shiro admires his ability to just shake it off.

            “Well you’re missing the chance to kick Lance’s ass at DDR!”

            Matt’s eyes light up at that. Whatever lingering signs of their argument were in the set of his shoulders fade instantly and he calls back, “No way am I letting any boyfriend of yours dethrone me! I’m The Dance King!”

            Shiro snorts, mind flashing immediately to the video he has somewhere of Matt drunkenly stumbling to ABBA at Thace’s last New Years’ Party. Katie makes a disgusted face, shoving at her brother when he steps up beside her.

            Shiro walks with them as they head through the clusters of games toward the dance pad, while Katie hisses “Don’t be disgusting,” at Matt.

            “I’m not. There was a space.” Matt grins wide at her, eyes bright with the kind of mischief that says even he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying. “Boy friend, not boyfriend.”

            Katie shoves at him again, this time hissing “Shush!” as they come within earshot of the DDR game. Apparently Lance has been waiting patiently for his challenger to arrive. Hunk, Shay, and Keith stand around him, either curious or at least neutral enough to see where this is going to go. Shiro comes to stand by Keith, giving him a smile in greeting that Keith returns with a half quirk of the lips.

            “Lance thinks he’s hot shit,” Keith says while Lance says, “Think you can take me, old man?”

            “I’ll beat your ass, bean pole!”

            “Is he any good?” Shiro asks, leaning down. They watch Lance make a production out of taking off his jacket and tossing it to Hunk, who dutifully catches it. Keith gives a noncommittal shrug.

            “Better than me.”

            Shiro tries to imagine Keith up there instead of Matt and gets the mental image of him in a dark tank top with his hair pulled up in a tiny ponytail, sweating and busting moves that were definitely ripped from some k-pop music video. It’s a surprisingly attractive thought, and one Shiro vows to erase from his mind, lest he get carried away.

            He focuses instead on Matt, who mimics Lance’s jacket move and tosses his at Katie. She pointedly lets it fall to the floor.

            Matt and Lance sign into the machine and toss a few more insults at each other like they’re about to drag race rather than jump around rhythmically to the questionable choreography of a pink haired computer model. Lance is player one and gets to flip through the song list, but when they see that Lady Gaga is an option, there’s really no other choice they could make.

            They’re both fairly good at the game. Shiro wouldn’t necessarily call what they’re doing ‘dancing’, but the scores are high and they’ve both got streaks going. Hunk and Katie cheer them on and Shiro grins, crossing his arms and leaning back against another console.

            Keith leans slightly into his space, eyes still on their friends, and mumbles, “So, you’re okay?”

            Shiro turns, giving him his full attention. Keith’s face is hard at the edges, and his eyes are far too determined for someone watching a pair of twenty-somethings flailing to outdated pop. It makes Shiro a little nervous, if he’s being honest. What did he do to make Keith concerned for him?

            “Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” He hesitates a moment. Lance missteps and loses his high streak, making Hunk and Shay ‘aw’ in sympathy while he curses. “…Why?”

            He tries to make it sound like an afterthought, rather than something he’s worried about. Whether or not he’s successful remains to be seen, but Keith shrugs, genuinely nonchalant. Or so Shiro assumes, until Keith glances sideways at him. It’s critical. Appraising. Shiro tries not to blush.

            “You were having a private conversation with Matt.”

            Shiro’s stomach flips. It takes him a few tries to speak around the humiliation and the shameful heat flooding his face.

            “You heard that?”

            The dance finishes. The recorded applause is nearly drowned out by Katie and Matt’s whoops of joy. Lance demands a rematch and Matt tells him to bring it.

            Keith turns to full face Shiro. He shakes his head. “No, I just noticed you two drop back. I wasn’t sure if it was a birthday thing, or… something else.”

            He winces and gives Shiro and apologetic look. Shiro figures the answer to that is pretty obvious now, with the way he reacted.

            The others pick a song and start up a new match while Shiro rubs the back of his neck. He watches them for a short bit so he doesn’t have to meet Keith’s eyes while he searches for the best – and least embarrassing – way to explain himself.

            Part of his hang up is on whether or not he _is_ okay. He’s not so much angry with Matt as he is aggravated, which is something they can work out over time, and the party hasn’t been ruined for him by their spat. But parts of the argument will stick with him for a while, and he’s positive they’re going to have to come back to it before long. Then there’s his homelife, which is even more stressful lately thanks to Daibazal’s potential espionage.

            In the end, Shiro settles for “It was just a personal thing. I’ll be okay.” Later. Eventually.

            Keith gives a short nod and turns back to the game. It’s a quiet acceptance, Shiro thinks. A way of saying he’ll trust Shiro to manage things on his own. Shiro’s deeply grateful for it.

            Just as the second song is ending, Keith says, “Let me know if you ever need anything.” He’s not looking at Shiro or showing any signs that he expects an answer in return. It’s just an offer Shiro can take or leave as he pleases.

            Shiro’s stomach flips again, this time much more pleasantly, and warmth radiates up from it until it fills his chest. Keith is gruff and straight forward, but kind and caring and devoted to the people and things in his life. _Like Allura_ , a stray, villainous thought chimes in. It echoes through his head while he watches Keith walk over to Lance, smirking around some snarky comment about his second loss. _Like Allura. Like Allura_.

            In a shattering, breathtaking moment of disassociated clarity, Shiro wonders just when exactly he started having a ‘type’.

            “Come on, best two out of three,” Lance demands. Matt laughs and Katie crosses her arms.

            “You’ve already lost two out of three.”

            “Try three out of five,” Hunk suggests.

            Shiro scoops up Matt’s jacket off the floor and folds it over his arm. “There are a whole lot of other games for you to lose at, if you want,” he says, leaning up against the metal railing at the side of the dance floor. Matt and Keith both laugh, and Lance turns on him now with the same indignance.

            “You wanna go toe to toe with me too?”

            Shiro shakes his head. “There is no way I’m getting on that thing.”

            He expects Lance to call him a chicken, but apparently losing two games in a row has fueled some bravado in him. “Name your game. I’ll take you on in anything.”

            Shiro grins.

            “Oooooooh, that’s a dangerous challenge,” Matt jeers. They’re both thinking the same thing.

            “You don’t scare me,” Lance insists.

            Shiro laughs and hands Matt his jacket as he comes down off the platform. Lance doesn’t realize what he’s asking for. “If you’re sure about this,” he says.

            Katie snorts, recognizing the bait for what it is, but Lance jumps at the chance to prove himself. “Just lead the way, man.”

            Shiro takes them around the corner and past the skeeball games, weaving around other patrons until they make it to the faux leather seats of the racing games. Several of them are single player only, but there’s one in particular that Shiro’s after, and its dual seats are stamped with a bright orange G on the back.

            “Galaxy Gliders,” Matt announces for him. “Shiro’s the best at this game. Literally no one can beat him.”

            Shiro grins and settles his hands on his hips. He’s not one to brag, per se, but he’s also not going to stop Matt from doing it for him.

            “Well, Lance? What do you think?”

            Lance looks from the game console to Shiro and back. He takes a moment to think, then smiles and grabs an unsuspecting Keith by the arm, tugging him in front of him.

            “I’m tagging out with Keith.”

            Keith frowns over his shoulder. “You can’t do that, that’s not the point.”

            “Matt swapped out with Shiro. I should get a second too.”

            “He didn’t ‘ _swap out_ ,’” Keith says, jerking his arm back. “You _challenged_ Shiro.”

            “He’s just switching because Keith’s better at these games than he is,” Hunk says.

            “I’ll allow it,” Matt says, like he’s the judge of this impromptu competition. Shiro looks at Keith, who’s looking at him for some kind of support, and shrugs.

            “Fine by me,” he says. Keith sighs, looking annoyed at having been dragged into this mess. Shiro smirks. “It’s not like you’re going to beat me, anyway.”

            That changes Keith’s attitude. He straightens up, flashing Shiro wide, firey eyes, and then settles for a glare as he pushes his way past Katie and hops into the chair.

            “You wanna race? Let’s race.”

            Shiro’s heart rushes at the thrill of that challenge. He grins and drops into the familiar chair, logging his initials before turning to Keith.

            “Let’s see what you got.”

            This arcade is a favored hangout of Matt’s, and Shiro’s sat in this chair enough times to have the loading screen tips memorized. The wheel beneath his hand is almost as familiar as the one in his own car, and the rhythm of the starting lights’ beeps is like an old favorite song to his ears. The second they turn green, Shiro floors it.

            Keith isn’t bad. Shiro can see him on his minimap muscling his way into third as they rush around the bend of a desert canyon. Supposedly these maps are based off of actual desert in the southwest, where the military runs tests on real army vehicles. Shiro isn’t sure how much creative license the game designers took, but he’s guessing the government doesn’t have things like ramps set up over thousand foot gorges. Then again, that is just for the hidden shortcut.

            Keith manages to make his way up to second before Shiro suddenly swerves off the track. He hears Keith jerk in surprise, and then Matt’s cheering “That’s my boy!” as Shiro rushes up on the rocky ramp and goes airborne. Keith pulls his wheel with the hard right the regular course forces him to make.

            “He’s not gonna make that,” Lance yells, leaning into the space between their seats while Shiro’s glider makes the descent. “There’s no way you can make that. You’re coming down too fast.”

            He is coming fast, but it’s a trick built into the game. If players lose their nerve and let up on the gas, they fall. But Shiro knows this track like the back of his hand. He catches the landing ramp by the edge of his front bumper and, in a feat that defies real world physics, shoots out in front of Keith just before they cross the finish line for lap two.

            The final lap warning flashes in the corner as Keith gains on him, cutting his corners extra tight to make up for the shortcut’s lead.

            “I’m impressed,” Shiro says over their friends’ increasingly loud cheering.

            Keith comes out of a turn nearly even with him and says, “You should be.”

            It’s easy confidence, combined with a low tone and a smirk Shiro catches in his peripheral as Keith leans forward over the wheel. A second rush of adrenaline shoots through Shiro’s chest and has him burning up inside. There’s a sudden energy in the air between them, more than just playful competition, that’s thick enough to drown out whatever their friends are yelling.

            Shiro rips off the path to make his jump, and Keith’s right alongside him. Shiro laughs, breathless, surprised, and impressed.

            “Catch on fast,” he says. Keith chuckles low in his throat. “I don’t know if the ramp can hold two at once, though.”

            It’s coming up fast, rushing toward them with only enough width for one glider. If they both go, they’ll crash and drop down to last place together, and no one will win. But if one of them stops short, the other can make it.

            It’s a game of chicken. A test of nerves. Shiro wants to see how far Keith is willing to go.

            A second before they hit the ramp, Keith knocks his glider into Shiro’s, jostling both of them so that they hit the ramp with only half of their gliders. Shiro makes a sound in the back of his throat. Keith must have done that to make sure Shiro couldn’t beat him to the jump, deciding he’d rather take Shiro down with him. But the game glitches and sends both of them flying over the gorge, and Keith laughs, loud and accomplished.

            “I didn’t think that would work!” he cheers.

            “If you didn’t think so, why’d you do it?” Shiro risks a glance over at Keith, arching one brow and smirking. Keith flashes him a grin.

            “Hey, can we still steer up here?”

            Shiro narrows his eyes, then snaps his attention back to his screen. They’re coming in for the landing. Matt and Lance start arguing over who’s going to cross the line first.

            “Yeah, why?”

            Keith throws himself over the wheel.

            “Cuz I still wanna win.”

            They hit the down ramp simultaneously. Keith jerks his wheel while the back halves of their gliders are still in the air and sends them both spinning. Shiro gives a shout of surprise and struggles to straighten his glider, but by the time he’s evened out, Keith’s already straight and crossing the finish line.

            A huge silver “2nd” fills Shiro’s screen a few seconds later. There’s silence.

            Then Matt lets out a long “ _Ohhhhh!!!_ ”

            “ _Yeah_ , suck it!” Lance cheers. Katie laughs and Shay starts clapping.

            “Oh man, that was the most intense two minutes of my life,” Hunk says. Keith laughs.

            “Sorry TRS,” he says, fiddling with the controls.

            After a second Shrio processes that and jumps, head snapping to look at Keith’s screen. Instead of a simple giant “1st” like on Shiro’s display, Keith’s screen has been moved on to the leaderboard. His time and initials are outlined in gold – at the very top of the list.

            “KYK?” Shiro reads. He blinks, just to be sure he’s reading the board right. Keith’s time is still at the top. Shiro checks – it’s a full six seconds faster than the previous leader.

            “I can’t believe he beat your top score,” Matt says.

            Shiro can’t believe it either.

            Keith looks over at him, eyes going wide. “Wait.” He points at the second place time on the leaderboard. “That’s _your_ score?”

            Shiro nods and clicks through his menu, stopping when the game highlights this rounds’ time as the third fastest ever played. A full nine seconds slower than Keith, three slower than his best record.

            “I’m TRS.”

            “What’s the T stand for?”

            It comes out in a rush. Keith blinks and then pulls back, looking embarrassed for asking, like he caught himself a moment too late. Shiro smiles.

            “Takashi. It’s my given name, but uh, I prefer Shiro for cultural reasons.”

            Keith stares for a beat, then nods. Lance tells Matt he owes him a drink for losing their bet. Matt asks if Lance is even legal.

            “I get that,” Keith says. “My granddad was a Japanese immigrant, so that’s one of the things my pop taught me about growing up. It’s funny because our last name is Kogane, but he was probably the most stereotypical Texan you could ever meet. Accent and everything.”

            Shiro laughs at that. It’s nice to meet someone who just accepts his preference without having to ask a bunch of questions first or to comment on how ‘unique’ it is. It just is what it is with Keith. Simple and easy.

            “I’m uh, sorry I beat your score,” he adds. Shiro waves him off.

            “Nah, that was fun. I don’t think I’ve gotten that into a game in months. And it’s nice to finally find someone who’s actually a decent challenge.”

            It’s a ribbing meant for Matt, but the birthday boy is still bickering with Lance over the semantics of their apparent bet, so he misses it. Keith looks over at where Matt is tugging on Lance's hands, scrutinizing them for signs of a washed off X. A grin starts tugging at the corner of his mouth, and when he turns back to Shiro, there’s a fire in his eyes so hot it sends a wave of electricity through him, straight down.

            “Wanna go another round?”

            Shiro takes in a sharp breath and slams the start button.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the delays this month, chapter six is going to be pushed back a bit. It's going to be a BIG chapter, so it may take me a while to finish, but I'll do my best to get it out in September for you all. You're either going to love it or hate it (but I think you'll love it.)  
> [EDIT]: Chapter six is now officially scheduled to go up October 5th. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/) for updates on chapter six's progress, as well as a healthy dose of sheith fanart spam once I watch season 7. If you like this chapter, please consider reblogging it [here](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/post/177470473615/titanium-brand) \-- it helps me a lot. 
> 
> I've also got a few left over Sheith Month prompts to finish off, so [subscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleMooseMuffin) to me here if you want to see some sheith-y oneshots.
> 
> Thank you for reading!~


	6. Branded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's got to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! (Or Happy October if you don't celebrate~)
> 
> Welcome to one of my favorite chapters. Here's hoping you guys like it. Things are about to get a little heavy. (I was sorely tempted to up the rating because I let Shiro say fuck, hahaha). And finally the title will make sense!
> 
> Unbeta'd at the moment because September was a busy time. Expect some minor edits soon.
> 
> Enjoy~

            The time display in the corner of his desktop reads 1:49pm by the time Shiro finally forces himself away from his work. There aren’t any major projects or crucial emails he has to address by the end of the day, but the fear of sitting idle has had him hunting down any spare work he can find in the system. If he runs out of things to do, he’ll just be sitting alone in his office, and if he’s sitting alone his mind will drift.

            He knows if he leaves himself to it though he’ll finish off all of the work available and end up with absolutely nothing to do later this week. He has to find something else to do with himself.

            Shiro isn’t hungry, but he makes the trek to the employee lounge just the same, hoping someone will catch him and start up a conversation. Keith and Matt are at work, and texting is off limits regardless, which means his only hope are his coworkers tending to their own tasks.

            He realizes the moment he steps into the lounge and finds it empty that he should have taken his lunch break sooner. The labeled lunches that were in the fridge this morning have all disappeared, and even the coffee pot’s gone dry. Griffin will likely fill it again around three, but Shiro can’t wait around that long.

            Since he’s already here, he takes his lunch and heats it up in the microwave. It’s just leftovers from the Chinese place a few miles from his house; the remains of last night’s dinner, repackaged in plastic Tupperware for easy transportation. The microwave makes the rice a bit too dry, but it was this or lunch meat sandwiches, and Shiro wasn’t really in the mood this morning to put all that together.

            He takes it back to his office in the hopes that someone will catch him as he walks by, but no such luck.

            It’s the silence that’s starting to get to him. If he isn’t at the bar or on the phone, it’s almost like he’s been put in solitary confinement. He hasn’t so much as _seen_ Allura in the past week – either she’s been on duty, or she’s been sleeping off a long shift, or she’s been out, meeting with her cousin or her lawyer, chasing after Daibazal leaks and searching for the source. His evenings are empty and cold, lackluster dinners alone in a dark living room with nothing but shitty TV for company. It’s getting harder every day to go home.

            The smell of his reheated chicken is wholly unappetizing. Shiro pushes the Tupperware aside and leans over his desk. There are pictures of her on the other side of his keyboard. Just a handful. One from college, in her big sunhat, smiling over her shoulder in a playful pose she said she’d seen on every magazine cover that summer. Another taken at a post-college party, her and Matt laughing drunkenly at one another’s ugly sweaters. And a third that she took herself, gifted to him during his first extended business trip just a few months after their wedding. She took it with the camera on her phone and a black and white filter.

            It’s that picture more than any other that’s tearing apart his insides. It’s not of her smile or her eyes, doesn’t feature her fluffy waves of hair. Just her hands, right under left, palms away from the camera. Something she took with the timed shutter and automatic flash. The light shines off the diamond of her wedding ring. A perfect focal point.

            _I love you_ , she said when she sent it. His eyes sting looking at it now.

            For as distant as she’s been, there are pieces of her everywhere, always with him. Shiro pulls out his wallet and keys and sets them down in front of the keyboard. The little metal figurine at the end of his keyring taps heavily against the polished wood of his desk. He stands it up, putting the silver lion on his feet. Slowly, he traces its shape with an index finger.

            He’s considered taking it off, considered moving his keys onto a new ring. He could buy a cheap plastic one at the dollar store and relieve the gifted lion from duty. Somedays, like today, he figures he probably should. The figurine wasn’t for anything special, just a little ‘I saw this and thought of you’ gift from Allura, but sometimes he’s so invested in miserating over the state of things, and having pieces of her love handy only enables him.

            It’s stupid. It’s _pathetic_. He’s a full grown man, with a college degree and battlefield experience. He endured trauma overseas and yet this is what has him crumbling. A tiny metal lion. Not even the ring in his wallet.

            Shiro tosses aside the keys.

            He runs his hands down his face, tugging lightly at the skin to try and snap himself out of this. It only marginally works – now he feels more tired than sad. His hands fall heavy on the desk and he slumps in his seat, giving up on strong posture.

            He feels like a mess. A tired, worn out, washed up shell of a functioning person, like a middle aged man on the verge of an identity crisis. Shiro huffs and stares down at his hands, tracing the shape of them with his eyes. His right hand isn’t quite the same as his left – it’s a great prosthetic, but the skin-toned glove that covers it isn’t a perfect mimicry of human skin. The differences are small enough that most people don’t notice. Keith hasn’t, he doesn’t think. But if they really inspected, they’d spot the little things that give it away. The ‘skin’ is too clean, free of scars or nicks or dirt in the lines of his knuckles. In contrast his left hand is littered with marks. A tiny silver line on the side of his thumb, a mole just right of a vein. Chipped pinky nail from opening something a few days ago. And then the obvious, now fading tan line curling thick around the base of his ring finger.

            The skin’s still light enough to draw his eyes, but it’s nothing like the contrast he had weeks ago. He hadn’t realized before he took the ring off just how much of a difference it had made on his skin.

            Shiro opens his wallet and tugs out the shining band from its corner of the main pocket. He holds it up, elbow on the table, and turns it over delicately between his fingers.

            It’s such a small piece, in the scheme of things. A lightweight loop of titanium, clean lines that fit neat and tidy against his skin. Like it belonged there, like it had always been. When he did finally take it off, unable to bear its constant reminder of the promises they’re on the verge of breaking, he realized the weight of it had gone skin deep. Like a tattoo. A sun made titanium brand.

            Even that’s mostly faded now.

            The ring hits the desk with a solid _clack_ when it slips from between his middle finger and thumb. He jumps as the ring bounces a few times before he manages to catch it in his palm, seconds before it would have hit the floor and rolled under the desk, where it would have been lost forever.

            Closing his fist, Shiro sets his hand back on the desk and sighs in relief. Part of him thinks that losing the ring might be better for his sanity, but it’s a bitter piece of his mind, and the rest of him feels queasy at the idea.

            This is why he’s been keeping it in his wallet all this time. He could slip it onto a chain, like Allura did with hers since she was afraid of losing it whenever she took it off for surgery, but she’d left it hanging on their dresser more days than not months before he took up sleeping in the guest room. Some part of him is afraid of what it would mean, if he stopped carrying his, too.

            A soft ping from his monitor alerts him to a new email. It startles him from staring blankly at his hand. He’d been so deep in his thoughts, he nearly forgot where he was. Shiro reads the heading and feels a bit of relief ease into his shoulders. A new assignment, due within 48 hours. Exactly the kind of thing he needs to occupy his mind. Carefully, he tucks his ring back into its place in the corner of the wallet and sets that aside with his keys, pushing them across the desk to rest in front of the picture of Allura and Matt. He pauses, hovering his hand there between two frames. His stomach aches.

            Shiro takes a deep breath, then gently eases the photo of her ring lower, until it’s face down on the desk. The muted thump sounds softly final. An inevitable surrender to the end that’s coming.

            Shiro opens the new email and tries his hardest not to think about it.

 

            The emotional exhaustion he feels by the time he makes it to Blaytz’s is strong enough that he orders a second drink for himself to try and take the edge off. Keith takes notice and raises his eyebrows at him as he sips the last of his own daily drink.

            “Rough day?” he guesses after he’s set his glass down with a solid tap. Shiro sighs and reaches out to take the bottle Blaytz offers.

            He takes a long drink. “More like rough week.” Glancing sideways at Keith, he catches a frown sent his way. Something shifts uncomfortably in Shiro’s chest.

            Keith looks like he wants to say something but has decided against it. He watches Shiro drink slowly from the bottle, until it’s half gone. Then it seems his curiosity overpowers his manners.

            “You haven’t mentioned it before.”

            Shiro nods, then shakes his head. “It’s not usually on my mind when I’m—” he catches himself on the edge of saying ‘with you’ and stumbles to amend it, “when I’m here.” Keith blinks once, a line of confusion forming between his brows. Shiro clears his throat and glances away.

            “It’s just the, uh, the personal things I was talking about with Matt at the party.” That’s a half-truth, but it’s the easiest explanation he can give without going into detail. He meets Keith’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I just don’t really feel like dwelling on it.”

            At first, Keith looks like he might argue. Shiro shifts his brows into a pleading expression. All he wants is some relief from the grief this break has caused him. All he wants is to enjoy his evening with a good friend.

            Keith dips his head, looking a bit guilty. Shiro frowns, but then Keith reaches into his jacket and pulls out his phone. He swipes through until he’s pulled up a picture to show Shiro.

            Three of the kittens clamber over one another, toes and noses all pink at the edges. Their heads are too big for their ears. It makes Shiro’s heart ache from the overwhelming cuteness. He grins and coos over the picture, laughing at their plump little tails and the way one of the sandy kittens has its back paw half in the mewing mouth of the tabby.

            “They’re so tiny,” he breathes. Keith huffs fondly. He’s grinning too when Shiro glances up.

            “They’re a lot bigger than when they started. You should see how big the black on is – I think Red overfed her or something.”

            “There’s nothing wrong with a plump kitty,” Shiro says. Keith snorts and brushes hair behind his ear.

            The smile doesn’t leave his face. He tells Shiro stories about the kittens, detailing the personalities he’s started to notice in them as they slowly gain a bit of independence. The bigger sandy kit spends the most time near Red, content to let her groom and fuss over him. The tabby always pushes to be the first in line for food. The little sandy one, which Keith insists is brown, nearly snuck under the couch when he turned his back on her. Keith sounds a little exasperated and plenty affectionate as he talks about them, content with letting Shiro be the silent staring one for once. It’s comforting to be able to just sit back and hear about the sweet little kittens in the picture still sitting beside his bottle, comforting to have someone lead the conversation and share something so loved.

            Shiro catches his thoughts drifting while Keith goes on about the kittens’ habits. The lights above the bar cast a warm golden glow over the polished wood and the rise of his cheeks as he talks, making a short gesture with his hand. The light brightens his eyes and highlights the leather of his gloves and jacket, which creaks with that motion. He’s always looked softer barside than anywhere else. The explicit joy and fondness on his face heightens that.

            There’s a familiar ache in Shiro’s chest, warm and tugging like an emotional hunger, but deeper. It’s sprung up a few times before, briefly, around Keith. He’s attractive – sleek and pretty in ways that sharpen at the edges, like an expertly made blade. Shiro’s been caught breathless before, when the lights glinted just so off of Keith’s razor edge. This is different. It’s not a hitch in his breath, but more a full blown asphyxiation, soul deep and raw. There’s something about the very energy of Keith that’s drawn him in and wreathed around him, and suddenly he finds himself surrounded by it, too deep to back out.

            The undeniable aching truth pressing up against his lungs is this: He wants Keith. It’s stinging and complicated and impossible, but it’s not something he can fight or deny.

            Matt’s comment from the party comes back to him now in a soft echo that leaves his skin crawling with guilty heat.

            Keith slides his hand across the table and Shiro nearly jumps, ears burning. But Keith takes his phone, not the hand Shiro has settled on the counter. He flashes Shiro an apologetic smile.

            “I should get home and check on them.”

            Shiro straightens. “Uh, right. Yeah, you should make sure they haven’t clawed anything.”

            “Nah, they’re still too small for that.” Keith ducks his head and slips his phone back into the inside pocket, trading it for his wallet.

            “I’ll walk you out,” Shiro says. Keith flashes him another smile, corners of his eyes pinched up with an affection that makes Shiro’s stomach flip twice over.

            Shiro stands and reaches in his pocket only to find it empty. He frowns. Pats his other pocket. Pats both in case he’s missed something, but it’s fruitless. A feeling like ice water pours into his stomach.

            “Shit,” he hisses under his breath. There’s nothing in his back pockets either, nor his coat.

            “What is it?” Keith asks. Shiro snaps his head up and blushes. His mouth runs dry. Before he can answer, Blaytz has come over to collect the bill Keith set on the counter to pay for his drink.

            “Did you… lose your wallet?” Keith asks. Another wave of heat flows over Shiro. He swallows and glances sideways at Blaytz. Thankfully, the bartender looks concerned rather than annoyed.

            “I-I think I left it on my desk.” He swallows again and turns to give Blaytz an apologetic look, practically cringing at his own stupidity. “I can try to go back to the office. Shit, what time is it?” He looks to Keith, who quickly pulls out his phone. 

            “Nearly eight,” he says, mouth drawn in a tight line.

            “Fuck,” Shiro hisses. “The building’s probably closed.”

            Blaytz eyes him very seriously and moves to lean against the counter. “Listen.” His voice is low. Shiro winces – he bought twice as much as usual and now he can’t even pay for it. He really is a disaster this week. “You come in here every single weekday to sit and chat with this one.” Blaytz nods at Keith, who crosses his arms. Shiro’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating the tinge of pink at the tops of his cheeks. “I don’t care about the money. You’ll be back tomorrow, you can just pay me then.”

            Shiro sighs, his whole chest caving with relief. “Thank you so much. I will pay you, I promise. I can’t believe I left it.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs again against the stress of everything.

            “Hold on, now,” Blaytz says. Shiro stills his hand. “I’m not worried about the money, but I am worried about you. Do you need someone to buy you a cab?”

            “Hm? Oh, no, I live nearby. I usually walk… home…” Shiro slows, left hand drifting down from his hair mechanically. “My keys…”

            He can see them in his mind’s eye, the little lion figure shining in the light of his desk lamp right beside his wallet. His pockets were completely empty when he checked. And Allura is working late again – she won’t be home to let him in.

            “Jesus Christ,” he spits at himself.

            Keith frowns. “You left them too?”

            Shiro gives an aggravated sigh, which is enough of an answer. “I could try calling Matt, see if he’ll let me crash with him tonight. I hate making him drive all the way out here after a long work day, but…” His other option is to go to the hospital and ask Allura for her keys, which would be humiliating in more ways than one.

            “Well,” Keith starts, then stops short. Shiro looks up and watches him shift his weight a few times. There’s something on the tip of his tongue, but it takes him a bit to get it out. “If… you don’t mind the bike, you can crash with me. On my couch, I mean. Well, on the futon. It’s a futon couch, it folds down so it’s a, a bed.” He coughs once and stares at a point behind Shiro rather than meeting his eyes.

            Shiro really tries to convince himself Keith isn’t blushing. The way Blaytz looks between them does not help.

            “Are you sure?” He asks after a moment. Keith shrugs loosely, making a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat.

            “You could see the kittens,” he mumbles. That’s enough to get Shiro to cave.

            “Alright then, sure.”

            The smile Keith gives him is tiny and lethal.

            “Be safe!” Blaytz calls out as they wave goodbye and head for the door. Keith huffs from the back of his throat, eyes narrow.

            “I’ve been riding for years, Blaytz. We’ll be fine.”

            With the way Blyatz bursts out laughing, Shiro’s pretty sure the drive wasn’t what he meant.

 

            Keith only has one helmet, of course, and as hard as he tries to convince Shiro to wear it, Shiro wins and makes him keep it for himself. He hasn’t ever ridden before, but Keith’s instructions are specific and clear, and he answers Shiro’s few questions with a confident ease that makes Shiro trust him implicitly.

            Riding a motorcycle is exciting. It’s fast, even with the limits of the city, and in some ways it feels almost as though the bike has an energy of its own. It thrums under them, alive and eager like an animal desperate to run. Shiro has to hold tight to Keith’s chest, not fully trusting his prosthetic to be his primary anchor. The warmth of his body against Shiro’s chest, even through their jackets, and the way he can feel every subtle shift of Keith’s weight goes straight to his head. It leaves him breathless and giddy.

            The ride isn’t long. As they pull into Keith’s parking lot, Shiro mournfully wishes they could go again. Take a tour of the city, maybe. It’s mainly the adrenaline talking, mixed with the ache in his chest from how nice it felt to be pressed so tightly against Keith.

            _You’re so easy, Shirogane_ , he thinks. Keith reminds him he has to dismount first.

            He’s been to Keith’s modest apartment before, but only ever briefly. Keith invited him in to meet Red in her own space the day Shiro took them to the vet, and he helped carry kitten supplies in when they went shopping to prepare for her litter. This is the first time he’ll be spending more than ten minutes in the simple living room. As they come to Keith’s door on the fourth floor, a sudden curiosity takes Shiro. He hasn’t really had the chance to look around and see how his friend prefers to keep things – he wonders what it’ll be like, seeing how Keith lives.

            “I keep them in my room when I’m out, so they can’t get in as much trouble,” Keith says while untying his boots. Shiro follows suit and sets his shoes beside Keith’s before coming further in. “I don’t think Red’ll let you pick them up, but I’ll move their blanket out here so you can see them.”

            He hangs his jacket after pulling out his phone and wraps his scarf around the hanger. Then he holds out his hand. It takes Shiro a moment to realize he’s asking to take his as well.

            “I’ll just wait over here, then,” he says as he hands off his coat. “I don’t want to stress her out.”

            Keith gives him a short nod after hanging it up and closing the closet, then heads down the narrow hall to the right of the living room. Shiro hears him call out to Red when he reaches his bedroom.

            In the meantime Shiro takes off his blazer and neatly folds it over his arm. It hits him suddenly that he’s either going to have to sleep in his underwear or in his work clothes tonight, and neither is an entirely appealing concept. His stomach growls as he sidesteps into the kitchen area to keep out of the way. _Great. Really should have eaten lunch instead of sitting around moping._ He runs his free hand through his hair and sighs.

            Keith makes a few trips, first bringing out a downy blanket to spread beside the couch, then carrying out Red’s food and water to set a few feet away. When he comes out with two of the kittens – the black and the tabby – Red is more or less wound around his legs and meowing insistently. Shiro watches with a smile from behind the island counter. The vet guessed it was her first litter, and Red seems to be a bit of a helicopter mom, but the fact that she lets Keith handle her kittens must me she trusts him quite a bit.

            Keith leaves to fetch the other two and Red wavers for a moment, unsure if she wants to follow or babysit the living room kits. Shiro shifts to lean on the counter and accidentally draws her attention.

            In seconds the russet cat is marching up to him, puffed up like a Pomeranian and spitting wildly.

            “Hey, I’m not bothering them,” he tells her as gently as he can. It doesn’t work. Shiro sets down his blazer and holds up his hands, taking a slow step back from her, and bumps into the counter thanks to the small space of the kitchen. Red hunches low by the fridge and growls, lashing her tail.

            “What did you do to her?” Keith asks lightly, coming out of the hall. The other two kittens mew in his arms.

            “Existed, I think.”

            Red flicks an ear toward the kittens as Keith carefully places them next to their littermates. She’s still glaring at Shiro, but she goes quiet.

            “Come on, Red,” Keith says as he comes around the other end of the island. “Leave Shiro alone.”

            Red hisses. Keith sighs.

            “Maybe you should bring her back to your room,” Shiro says. “I don’t want to stress her out.”

            Keith leans against the counter. “She should calm down soon, I think. You’re just really big. It’s intimidating.”

            Shiro nods. Red lashes her tail and dares him to come closer.

            He turns back to Keith at the sound of his stomach rumbling. Keith chuckles and pushes off from the counter.

            “I haven’t eaten yet. Have you?”

            Shiro winces. “I don’t want to take your food, Keith. You’re already doing a lot, letting me stay here.”

            Keith stares at him. One of the kittens mews, loud and squeaky, and Red chirps after it.

            “So what, you’re saying you’d rather starve?” There’s a quirk to his brow that says he’s almost joking. Almost. Shiro shrugs his bad shoulder and shifts his mouth around.

            “I’m saying I don’t want to burden you,” he says after some silence. Keith huffs a breath.

            “It’s just pasta. I usually make too much anyway.” He stares for another minute, and Shiro tries to come up with a better argument to stop him from wasting anymore resources on him.

            “I don’t want to make you cook for me,” he says as Keith turns away.

            There’s a clatter of metal as Keith shifts through his pots and pans. The kittens mew louder, probably startled, and Shiro glances over his shoulder to where Red was, but she apparently gave up on scaring him away because she’s gone.

            “It’s just pasta,” Keith says again when he’s pulled out his pot. He nudges Shiro out of the way of the sink. “To be honest you might be begging me not to make you eat it once it’s done.”

            Shiro laughs. Keith sets the pot on the burner and turns on the heat, then shrugs. “I’m not really a great cook.”

            Shiro smiles. “You can’t be any worse than me.”

            Keith mutters something sounding a bit like ‘Yeah, we’ll see,” and it makes Shiro laugh again.

            It’s warm here. The kitchen is tight despite the open floor plan and the lighting isn’t fantastic, but the glow of the stove light is the same sort of golden-orange as the bar lights at Blaytz’s and it makes the tight space feel cozy. Keith leans against the island counter, legs almost touching the oven, and watches the pot slowly start to boil. His arms are crossed. Shiro notices his bare hands then and realizes he must have taken off his riding gloves in the bedroom.

            “‘A watched pot never boils,’” Shiro says. Keith glances sideways at him, then stares back at the pot.

            “You sound like my pop,” he says, and a glimmer of that faded accent peeks out again. Shiro snorts.

             “Matt always says I have a dadly sense of humor. Well, that or a morbid one.”

            That gets Keith to turn his head. The confused furrow of his brow is adorable.

            “How can dad jokes be morbid?”

            “No, they’re two separate things. I tell dad jokes and I tell morbid jokes and there’s no in between, apparently.” He pauses, thinking. “I guess, technically, I do know a couple crossovers.”

            Keith tilts his head, just a bit, while the soft sound of popping bubbles starts to rise up from the pot. “…Like what?”

            Shiro considers for a moment whether their friendship is at a place where it can handle his awful baby joke. Probably not.

            “Like… why did the monkey fall out of the tree?”

            Keith blinks. “Why?”

            “Because he was dead.” It’s the flatness of the delivery that really makes the joke. Shiro’s had years of practice with it.

            Keith stares at him, eyes searching and brow furrowed, looking for all the world like he wants to say ‘what the fuck, Shiro?’ Shiro cracks a grin.

            “That’s…. so bad,” Keith says eventually.

            “There’s worse.”

            “Like what?”

            “What’s green and red and goes a hundred miles an hour?”

            There’s no trust in Keith’s eyes as he asks “What?”

            “Frog in a blender.” Shiro tries to keep a straight face, but the almost outraged look Keith gives him makes him snicker.

            “You’re terrible,” he says point blank. Shiro laughs harder.

            “I did warn you.”

            “No more jokes for you. You’ve lost your joking privileges.”

            Keith pushes off from the island and ducks his head, raising his hands to pull his hair in a loose ponytail. It’s far more attractive than it has any right to be. By the time Shiro realizes he’s gotten distracted from making a comeback, Keith’s already pouring noodles into the pot.

            “That’s probably enough. Right?”

            Shiro shrugs without looking in the pot. “You’re really asking the wrong person.”

            Keith hums and puts away the rest of the box. “I’m guessing you eat out a lot.”

            “No.” Keith has to stretch up on his toes to reach a higher shelf, where a jar of pasta sauce sits. The stretch starts to lift the tight black t-shirt he’s wearing. Shiro snaps his eyes to the fridge. “I uh, I can work a microwave, at least. It’s a lot of frozen meals, mostly.”

            Keith hums. The soft thud of the jar on the counter echoes in the cramped space. “Maybe I _am_ a better cook, then.”

            “I don’t doubt it,” Shiro says seriously.

            “Red sauce okay?”

            “Yeah, that’s fine.”

            Keith nudges him aside again to get the colander out from a lower cabinet. Shiro has a sudden need to help somehow with the prep.

            “Where do you keep plates?”

            “Hm? Oh, uh, cabinet right of the fridge.”

            Shiro finds them and takes the plates and some silverware over to the little table Keith has behind the couch. Then he peeks over the back of the couch to watch the little kittens wiggle around on their blanket. Seeing them in person, he can finally see why Keith insists the smaller of the two sandy kittens is brown. She’s got a dustier tone to her than her larger, rounder brother. She mews as he watches her and stumbles her way to the edge of the blanket before Red swoops in and brings her back to the center, where the tabby is trying and failing to climb over the black kitten.

            Shiro smiles and leans his arms against the back of the couch. The sound of the legs shifting catches Red’s attention, though, and she whips her head around to hiss at him some more.

            “I know, baby,” Shiro murmurs. “I’m not gonna take away your kittens.” Red isn’t convinced.

            Keith comes around with the pot and sets it on the table, standing by his chair and looking after Shiro.

            “Thanks again for cooking,” Shiro says and comes to take a seat.

            “Don’t thank me yet.”

            They divvy up the pasta and tuck in, mostly eating in a peaceful quiet while the kittens crawl around. Keith tips his chair back a couple times to check they’re not getting into too much trouble, and Shiro smiles behind his fork. In the peace of his own home, without Lance riling him up or the pressures of being in a public social setting, Keith is much softer. Gentle and vivid. Shiro can feel it softening his own edges.

            The pasta is a bit on the squishy side, but it’s still edible, and Shiro happily cleans his plate. When they’ve finished, Keith moves to take Shiro’s plate with his own, but Shiro waves him away.

            “You invited me over and made us dinner. Let me at least help clean up.”

            He’s prepared to push and insist on it, but Keith gives him a toothy grin. “If you really want.” He sets his plate on Shiro’s with one hand and takes the pot of leftovers with the other. “You clean, and I’ll put this away.”

            “Sounds good.”

            In the time it takes Shiro to wash up, Keith gets the pasta into Tupperware and puts it in the fridge. He nudges Shiro out of the way so he can rinse the pot, then steps back, patting his hands dry on his pants. He’s still grinning. Shiro isn’t sure why, but it’s contagious just the same.

            Keith meets his eyes. There’s a fleck of red on his cheek. Shiro snorts.

            “What?”

            “You’ve got sauce.”

            It’s not until Shiro’s wiping the tomato paste off Keith’s cheek with his thumb that he even realizes he’s done it. He stops when it hits him, when the excruciating cliché of the situation sinks in, saucey thumb hovering a millimeter over Keith’s now clean skin. Keith’s eyes are wide, smile slack like he’s forgotten about it, and Shiro’s much closer than he was a moment ago. Close enough to know Keith’s holding his breath, too. Close enough that Keith surges up for a kiss.

            Shiro’s mind blanks.

            Keith’s hands are on his shoulders to give him leverage. His mouth is warm, his lips soft and wet, gliding smooth and slow over Shiro’s. Keith kisses with purpose, with intent. Like he’s saying something. Shiro should kiss him back.

            The shock wears off then, but it’s a moment too late. Keith’s pulled back and dropping from his toes. He looks crestfallen.

            Shiro isn’t sure what to do with his hand, so he lowers it. In the silence he realizes they can’t pretend that didn’t just happen. It’s different now. This isn’t just harmless pinning anymore. Now that he knows Keith’s been feeling the same pull Shiro’s been refusing to follow, it’s a lot harder not to tug him back in for another kiss.

            Shiro tries to find the right way to put it into words, but Keith’s staring at him with wide eyes. The light in them isn’t shock; it’s fear.

            “Oh my god.” He takes a step back and his face turns bright red. Shiro tries to smile at him, but his body is still catching up to his mind, so it comes out lopsided. Keith swallows hard. “You didn’t feel it,” Keith breathes. Shiro frowns. “Oh my god it was just me – in my head. Oh shit. I-I. I kissed you and you’re not – shit, you’re probably straight.” He’s spiraling, talking as much to himself as he is to Shiro, voice a low, breathless thing. Shiro’s stomach drops out.

            “H-hey, Keith.” Shiro takes a jolting step forward, reaching out for him, and Keith flinches back.

            “Oh my god I’m so sorry.” He raises his arm like he’s going to cover his face, but stops halfway there. “I wouldn’t have – if I realized you weren’t into it – I just thought.”

            “Keith, you’re freaking out.”

            “Oh my god.” Keith does bury his face in his hands now, and keeps talking, voice muffled. “I can’t believe I did that. Shit, you can still stay, if you still want to. I promise I won’t do it again. I can just, stay in my room. Stop being so fucking…”

            “ _Keith_.” Shiro claps a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his panicked rambling. Keith peeks out through his fingers. Shiro physically aches at how afraid he looks. “Keith, it’s okay. I’m not mad, I’m not weirded out. You just… surprised me.” Keith blinks and slowly starts to lower his hands. He’s still tense under Shiro’s palm. “I hadn’t realized you like me – that you’re attracted to me. ‘Like me,’ what am I, sixteen?” He laughs sheepishly and ducks his head. Rubs at the back of his neck. He’s blushing now too, he knows. “Sorry. It’s probably obvious but I’m not used to this. It’s—” _been a long time_.

            Allura flashes through his mind, and suddenly it’s too hard to speak.

            Keith’s quiet. Shiro watches him through his lashes while his stomach twists itself in knots. There’s so much to think about – Allura, the break, this friendship with Keith and the precipice they’ve suddenly pushed it to. Which way will they fall? What’s going to happen? It burns under his skin, not knowing, not having any control. He looks up when Keith opens his mouth, but it’s only to pull his bottom lip between his teeth. He keeps staring. Thinking, maybe overthinking the same way Shiro is.

            Something needs to be said, but neither of them can think of what it is. Slowly, Keith pulls his lip out from between his teeth. Shiro swallows. They both take a slow breath in.

            “Is this… okay?” Keith’s voice cracks at the start. He softly clears his throat and shifts his weight a little.

            Shiro waits a moment before he realizes Keith’s waiting on _him_. Anxiety shudders through his veins. “This?”

            Keith lifts a hand, gestures vaguely between them. “My wanting to kiss you.”

            This is as close to timid as Shiro’s ever seen him. He wants to say “Yes.” “It’s fine.” “Please, do it again.” But there’s a weight in his chest, pressing against his lungs and holding him back. Like Keith’s the ocean and Shiro’s anchored by the dock, tied to a post with an impossibly thick rope. There’s a diamond at the center of that knot. Tarnished, but heavy.

            Keith nods. The pink in his cheeks darkens again, and he can’t meet Shiro’s eyes. “It’s okay. I’m… I’m gonna head to bed then, and get out of your way.” He cringes and takes a few steps back, turns to leave.

            “Wait!” Shiro jumps forward, reaching out to nearly grab Keith’s wrist. Keith looks as surprised as he feels – he almost shouted without even meaning to move. His pulse is pounding in his ears, but Keith turns, slowly, pivoting around his left foot. They stare at each other. Shiro’s mouth is too dry.

            He doesn’t know what’s come over him, doesn’t know why the tug he’s been feeling toward Keith has a stronger pull than the fraying ropes of his marriage. A bond that’s left marks imprinted in his skin, and Shiro’s left hand burns when he compares that to the few weeks he’s known Keith.

            Except, in those few weeks, he saw more of Keith than he’s seen of anyone else who doesn’t work in his office. He’s spent more time with Keith than he has with Allura in _months_. The motorcycle ride to the apartment was the most intimate contact he’s had in recent memory. He’s starving. And Keith is so open to him.

            Being around Keith changed everything for the better. The evenings aren’t as lonely. He’s made day trips when before he’d been holed up in the house. He’s laughed more, felt younger. More relaxed. Less of a complete mess.

            This is wrong. But the stove light is still on, still catching golden in the soft sheen of Keith’s hair, glowing in the reflection of his pretty blue eyes, and Shiro is weak. His heart aches in his chest, needy and wanting. All the things his life has been sorely missing are lain out in front of him, and he’s holding himself back for the sake of a failed marriage that’s rocketing toward its pathetic end.

            Maybe she proposed the break for your sake, Matt said. Shiro is so weak.

            “I…” His voice cracks too, throat too dry. His hand is shaking. He swallows and holds Keith’s wide-eyed gaze. “I want this. If I can have it.” It’s the closest thing to a confession that Keith’s going to get. Shiro just hopes he understands.

            Keith swallows, then blinks. Watches him carefully like he’s expecting more. Waiting for a catch. Shiro shrugs. He feels scraped raw, exposed and vulnerable to Keith’s whim.

             “Does that mean…” Keith trails off and takes a deep breath. He turns to fully face Shiro, then takes a tentative step forward. “Can…we kiss?”

            Shiro smiles and ducks his head, feeling flustered even though it’s such a gentle request. His heart flutters in his chest and makes him feel warm. He looks up at Keith, straightens, and nods, mumbling, “Yeah, I’d like to.”

            Keith flashes him that toothy grin before moving in.

            It’s sweet, and warm, and just a relief to ease into Keith’s arms. His hands are at Shiro’s elbows, timid but present. Shiro holds his biceps just to feel the connection and Keith hums softly.

            It’s just like sinking into bed after an exhausting day. Finally falling into place, where he belongs. When Keith pulls back, he doesn’t go far. Just smiles up at Shiro with a dreamy glaze to his eyes.

            “I like this,” he mumbles.

            Shiro whispers, “I’m glad.”

            “I’ve wanted to do that for a while, actually.”

            Shiro’s head spins. “Really? Why?”

            It comes out without him meaning for it to, and Keith tilts his head in soft confusion. His bangs fall into his eyes. Shiro itches to brush the hair back from his face.

            “Why did I want to kiss you?” Keith’s squinting at him, but smiling. Shiro chuckles under his breath.

            “I never realized you were interested in me.”

            “You’re sweet, Shiro.” It’s not patronizing or cloying. Just a fact, firm and sure. “You’re considerate and you’re fun. Anytime I go out with you I wind up having a lot of fun, and you’re nice to talk to. I feel like…” His voice goes soft and his eyes round out, making him look gentle. Earnest. They’re still standing so close, still holding each other’s arms. “I feel like you get me,” Keith confesses.

            Shiro leans down and kisses him. He keeps it soft, but insistent, trying to show without speaking the way that admission makes his heart flutter in his chest. He wants to make Keith feel just as intimately breathless as he makes him. The feeling is already blooming into something deeper, some protective urge to guard Keith from the jagged edges of the world. He knows of course that Keith can take care of himself, but the urging affection he’s set loose inside of him makes him want to cherish this man.

            When Shiro slowly pulls back, Keith’s eyes are shining. He’s grinning with barely tempered excitement.

            “This is great,” he says. He’s almost giddy.

            Shiro gives into that urge to tuck silky black locks behind Keith’s ear and nods, face splitting in a wide grin. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

 

            Eventually they migrate to the couch. Keith’s head fits perfectly on Shiro’s shoulder, and Shiro’s arm slots just right in the small of his back, curled around him to keep him close while they flip through channels and share work stories. Shiro tells him about the time Griffin somehow managed to mistake him for Rizavi in a rather unprofessional email chain, and Keith shares a story about Acxa and him casually showing up a pair of meathead gym braggarts by outbenching them after class. The smug pride on Keith’s face is what gets Shiro laughing the hardest, even after he says Acxa beat him by miles.

            It’s an easier evening than any in recent memory. But eventually it has to end.

            As they flick past the tail end of the eleven o’clock news, Keith yawns wide, then slumps back into Shiro’s chest. His eyelids are heavy as he blinks slow and takes another deep breath.

            “Maybe we should sleep,” Shiro says. They still need to make up the couch for him to sleep on, and he hasn’t decided yet what to do about his work clothes, but he should remove his prosthetic at the least. The thought of it starts to trigger his anxiety. He does his best to tamp it down.

            “Yeah,” Keith hums. He sounds reluctant to move. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

            “Me too.”

            “Need me to take you?”

            Shiro hadn’t thought about it until now. His office is definitely too far to walk, though. And without money, he can’t really take the bus.

            “That would be great, actually.”

            Keith shifts around and wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist. He waits until he’s buried his face in Shiro’s chest before he speaks.

            Shiro laughs at the vibration as it tickles. “What was that?”

            Keith tilts his head just enough to look up at him. “I said, what time do you go in?”

            “It’s a nine to five.” Shiro softly cards his fingers through Keith’s hair because he can. They discarded the ponytail some time ago.

            Keith leans into it, eyes closed. Just like a cat. Shiro bites his lip against a grin, but it’s too late. Keith is entirely too cute like this, pliant and humming. It’s close enough to a purr that Shiro laughs breathily.

            “I’ll set an alarm,” Keith says.

            Something shifts. Shiro stills his hand and pinches his brow. Keith’s suddenly tense, spine stiff and eyes flicking away.

            “Are you okay?” Did Shiro do something? He can’t think of what it’d be.

            Keith swallows, then pushes away to sit up fully. “It’s fine, just… the medicine I take makes me irritable in the morning sometimes. Along with other things…”

            With as cagey as he’s being, Shiro knows better than to ask questions.

            “Alright. I won’t hold it against you, then.”

            Keith nods stiffly. It’s another moment before he meets Shiro’s eyes. “I know we kissed and everything but… I’d still rather you sleep out here.”

            Shiro’s thoughts flash to his arm. “I prefer that too, honestly.”

            The tension eases away then. Keith gives him a shy smile. “Thanks for understanding.”

            “Thanks for having me over.” Shiro reaches for his hand and gently runs his thumb over the back of it for a moment. Then they both give in to the impending need for sleep.

            He helps Keith fold out the couch, and waits for him to come back with spare blankets and pillows. Shiro insists Keith let him set up the bed and not have to fuss over him. Keith’s stubborn about it until Shiro suggests he get the kittens situated back in his bedroom, since Red won’t let Shiro near her babies. Keith gives in and presses a kiss to Shiro’s cheek before setting to work on migrating the sleepy kittens.

            Shiro stays up a little longer, debating how he’s going to sleep. He can’t sleep in his slacks – they’ll be hopelessly rumpled by morning and entirely unprofessional. But sleeping bare chested is probably crossing a line, considering how shy Keith seemed, and Shiro’s not ready for anyone new to see the state of his chest, anyway. In the end he decides to sleep in his undershirt and boxers, folding the rest of his clothes neatly on the coffee table. Before he takes his prosthetic off he makes a final trip to the bathroom.

            Like the rest of Keith’s apartment, the hall bathroom is relatively plain, with no pictures and simple black hand towels by the sink, which is why Shiro’s eyes quickly land on the purple bottle beside the soap. He doesn’t mean to snoop, but his curiosity gets the better of him as he’s drying his hands. He just wants to read the label.

            It’s a bottle of pills, he realizes from the sound as he picks it up. Probably the medicine Keith mentioned before. That’s enough to make Shiro set it down. Health is a personal thing – he doesn’t need to know about Keith’s unless he decides to share. But Shiro sets the bottle down with the label facing out, and he can’t help it when he catches sight of the familiar name.

            Galra. The same product that Allura’s competitors, Daibazal, are working to improve via stolen documents.

            It’s not Keith’s fault he’s been prescribed that awful company’s product, but Shiro’s still left with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach as he turns off the lights and heads for bed.

 

            Irritable, it turns out, was maybe the wrong word choice on Keith’s part. Shiro would probably say ‘impersonal’ or ‘standoffish,’ from the way Keith acts in the quiet of the morning.

            Shiro wakes up when he hears the sound of Keith shuffling in his room – the walls are thin in the apartment and do little to muffle the buzz of his alarm or his groan as he goes to shut it off. It’s very early; mostly dark in the living room, with only a sliver of pale light coming from the windows. Pre-sunrise.

            Shiro stays curled up on the futon with the blanket pulled all the way up to his chin. He likes to be up early, because it makes him feel productive, but he isn’t exactly a morning person. He’d rather burrow into the blankets until the absolute last minute.

            Keith keeps relatively quiet as he slips into the kitchen and starts a pot of coffee. He’s nursing a mug when he comes to wake Shiro, pushing lightly at his good shoulder and rumbling a low “Get up.”

            Shiro lets him think he’d been sleeping and slowly rubs the sleep from his eyes.

            “It’s six,” Keith says. “There’s coffee. Don’t be loud.” With that gruff instruction he turns and pads back down the hall, probably to brush the ridiculous cowlicks out of his hair.

            Shiro takes a deep breath to help wake himself up more fully before he pushes up to sit and check over his prosthetic. It’s tucked out of the way beside the futon, where it wouldn’t be noticed or tripped over. He looks it over and sees that nothing’s happened to it while he was sleeping. Satisfied, he starts to put it in place.

            “Need help?” Keith gruffs from the hall. Shiro jumps.

            There’s a moment of panic, where the fact that Keith’s seen sets off an avalanche of anxiety in Shiro’s chest. His face floods with heat while his pulse roars in his ears. It’s suffocating for all of five seconds. Then he forces himself to swallow and focuses on his breathing. In, two three four, out. Six seconds, then repeat. He does it three times before he looks up at Keith with the most guarded expression he can manage, but there isn’t anything in the younger’s eyes except exhaustion. He’s casual. Not pitying, not mocking. Not prying. Shiro forces in another breath.

            “No.” His voice cracks. “No, I’ve got it.” He should say ‘thanks for offering’, but he doesn’t want to. Keith doesn’t hold it against him.

            “My shift’s at seven,” Keith says as he heads to the kitchen. Just like that, they’re moving on.

            Shiro finishes with his arm and is quick to pull on his shirt. The anxious feeling is still left floating in his veins like misplaced adrenaline, but he does his best to ignore it. Forces in a breath, counts as he holds it, eases it out to a slow beat.

            There’s a rattle from the kitchen. Shiro turns and watches Keith down a couple Ibuprofen tablets.

            “Headache,” he says when he catches Shiro staring. “It’s normal.”

            Shiro thinks back to the Galra bottle and decides he’s done prying.

            By the time they’re both dressed, properly caffeinated, and down in the parking lot, Keith’s a little more personable. He apologizes again for the single helmet, and this time convinces Shiro to put it on for the trip to his office. Shiro gives in solely because he doesn’t want to hold them up and make Keith late. His surrender earns him a tiny, tired smile, so he decides it’s definitely worth it.

            The sun is closer to showing its face on the horizon by the time they pull up to Shiro’s office building. Shiro hops off the bike, passes over the helmet, and offers a chaste wave goodbye before the two of them part ways for the day.

            And just like that, he’s alone again.

            It’s not until he’s in the elevator that the heavy feeling starts to settle in his gut. He spent the night at Keith’s. He _kissed_ Keith. Multiple times. Last night was more or less a casual date, and now he’s coming into work without having gone home, without having even changed.

            Veronica is already at her desk when Shiro walks through their floor. Her shift normally starts before his, so she’s understandably surprised to see him.

            “Morning, boss.”

            “Hey.”

            He’s far too casual, and he sounds exhausted thanks to the new weight sinking through him. Veronica squints, wary, and Shiro realizes a second too late that she’s scrutinizing him. Nervously he smooths his hand down the side crease of his pants.

            Her mouth curves up into a smirk. “Wild night?”

            Shiro turns away and feels the heat flooding his face. “I’m a little backlogged on paperwork,” he says. It doesn’t matter that they both know he’s lying – the point is for her to take the hint.

            “I’ll reschedule the conference call with Slav.”

            Shiro thanks God for little mercies and heads into his office.

            It’s shame, he realizes. The heavy, poisonous feeling in his stomach is shame. He’s slunk out of the apartment of a lover and shown up at work in the early hours, like a man slinking home from a one-night stand. This isn’t the kind of thing he can apologize for and have disappear. He’s walking himself right into a pit he dug of his own volition, and there’s no one around to offer him a way out. Not that he’d deserve one.

            Shiro runs a hand through his hair and sinks into his seat, trying not to fall into a depressed spiral of blame and self-loathing. He’s at work now. He needs to focus on his job.

            But it’s hard to do when his desk is exactly as he left it, keys and wallet nestled innocently on the other side of the keyboard. He wants to blame them for everything, but he can’t. Not when they’re pressed up against the frame of Allura’s gifted picture, still lying facedown against the polished wood. Right where he left it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: Don't ride a motorcycle without a helmet and the appropriate clothing! This is the second time I've written bad motorcycle safety..... 
> 
> The get together kiss is one of the scenes I was most excited to write for this fic. There are a lot of other really good ones coming up, too -- I finally (mostly) finished my outline. Do know that there's still a chance the chapter number will flux a little, though. (For example, chapters 4 and 5 were supposed to be one chapter before I sat down to write them). 
> 
> Chapter seven should come up November 2nd. What's Shiro going to do with himself now?  
> Also, remember to register to vote!
> 
> Help me out by reblogging this chapter [here](https://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/post/178752068040/titanium-brand). You can follow my [tumblr](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/) for updates on future chapters, as well as just to flood your dash with copious amounts of sheith <3 Feel free to come chat, I love making new friends. ^-^  
> I've got like six oneshot wips that are all inching closer to completion, so stay tuned for that.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Memory Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some things you can’t take back. Some things you have to accept and run with, or spend the rest of your life running away from. Shiro learns the hard way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends, I hope you're well! Welcome to November.
> 
> You'll notice this chapter is a bit on the short side. For the sake of tone and pacing, the next parts of the story couldn't be squeezed in here, so I hope you'll understand and not be disappointed. 
> 
> As usual, many thanks to [Anglophileslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophileslytherin/pseuds/Anglophileslytherin) for beta'ing this chapter. I'd also like to thank the friends who helped reassure me when I was nervous about this chapter -- I don't think they'll read this but they helped a lot. <3
> 
> By the way, [here's Matt's playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYD6qUG1Bagu5GeBYy9y96PsXQqaVSOfy).
> 
> Enjoy!~

            The rain that falls over the city washes the buildings grey and slows the traffic. Shiro drums his fingers on the wheel while he waits at a red light, caught behind three or four other cars in the rush hour traffic. His phone buzzes in the groove above the glovebox, a text alert, and the sound does its best to cut through him.

            It’s been a bit over a week since he last spoke to Keith in person. After the second time he nearly ran into him as Shiro rushed past Blaytz’s without coming in, he started driving to work. But the shelter of tinted windows has done nothing for his mounting guilt.

            His night at Keith’s has been hounding him ever since he dropped him off at work. The shame grew and grew over the course of that day until it twisted up into regret, and Shiro almost put his wedding band back on in a last ditch effort to purge his sins. But when he held it steady between the thumb and first finger of his right hand, a stiff numbness swept through him.

            The ring is tucked back in his wallet, where it belongs.

            He’s ashamed of himself, as he very well should be. Ashamed that he let things come to this, ashamed that he can’t bare to put it back on despite himself. And worst of all, he’s ashamed at how quickly that regret eroded away. The cars move forward and Shiro forces himself to focus on the road. The memory of Keith’s lips against his still echoes in the back of his mind.

            Allura is home today. She got off from an exhausting sixteen hour shift this afternoon, and Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still fast asleep in her room when he gets home. He knows if it were him, he’d be too tired to bother feeding himself when he got back from the hospital. If someone brought him a hot meal he’d probably kiss them square on the lips.

            It’s not that he wants her gratitude, of course. He just wants to do something nice. For his wife. She deserves nice things.

            He tells himself he’s doing it out of kindness as he turns left at the light and heads to her favorite pizza place. The fact that this route takes him away from the bar is just coincidence.

 

            Allura’s in the kitchen when he comes through the door. He’s doing a poor job of shielding the pizza box from the rain with his body, but he can hear the whistle of the kettle as he pushes the door shut with his heel. He toes off his shoes by the closet before heading in to deposit their dinner on the counter. He has to squeeze past her as she turns to see him, and the eager hunger that fills her eyes as she does makes him grin wide.

            “Half anchovy,” he says when he’s set the box down. She takes a step forward, nails tapping against the tea cup between her hands, and he laughs, lifting the lid to prove it. “Just for you. I figured you might be hungry.”

            “Starving,” she says. She sets her cup on the counter and steps into his space to take a piece, tucking loose hair behind her ear with her other hand. Most of it’s been pulled up in a haphazard ponytail, something quick she did when she got up. She’s still in her pajamas, shorts and a pink tank top, as though unaware of the autumn chill.

            She’s cute, standing barefoot and sleepy in the middle of the kitchen and munching on fishy pizza. Shiro leans back against the counter and takes a quiet moment to just watch her. She looks younger, without the makeup and business attire, without the deep stress lines in her forehead and the bags under her eyes. He knows it’s because she’s just woken up – tomorrow, once she’s caffeinated and dressed for work or her next meeting, she’ll look every bit the multimillion dollar company heiress she is. But for now he lets himself fall for the illusion that things are as they used to be. If he stops paying quite so much attention, he can pretend she’s the cute med student from a few bus stops down the road, and Matt’s in the living room setting up Mario Party for the few kids in their college town who decided to skip out on the Thursday night frat parties happening a few streets over.

            They weren’t dating, back then, but he’d already known he had feelings for her. She was smart, and funny, and she sucked at Mario Party but she could kick anyone’s ass at Mortal Kombat blindfolded. He laughed himself into losing the first time he saw her play as she ranted about the anatomical inaccuracies even as Kitana sliced the shit out of Smoke with her deadly fans. By the end of the night they’d crowned Allura the Murder Princess and given her rights to the last beer.

            The nickname stuck, of course. They still call her Princess even years later, especially at parties. Shiro can’t remember the last time he used it, though.

            She catches his eye mid-bite and raises an eyebrow as she chews. He smiles at her to cover whatever it is she’s seen on his face, but it’s too late.

            “Is there sauce on my face?” she asks between bites.

            “No, no. I was just… zoning out.”

            He opens the fridge and pulls out a pair of beers since the memory left their taste in his mouth. He remembers just as the door shuts that she was boiling water for tea, but Allura easily accepts the bottle he awkwardly offers and wastes no time twisting off the cap.

            “It’s been a while,” she says in a sigh after a long drink.

            “Yeah, it has,” he mumbles. He shifts the bottle between his hands. Allura frowns at him.

            “Is Blaytz’s not a bar?”

            Shiro chokes on his first sip of beer.

            “I saw it in our bank statements a few weeks ago.” She gestures loosely with her bottle. “I was under the impression, given the name and the amount spent, it was a bar.”

            Usually he pays cash, because he feels like it keeps him responsible if he can see the money being spent, but there have been a few times all he had was his debit card. Shiro sets his bottle on the counter behind him and coughs the last of the beer out of his lungs.

            “No, no it is. You’re right. That’s just… not what I thought you meant.”

            The silence is heavy. Allura catches his meaning and stares at him with a painful guilt that borders on apology, but it’s obvious she doesn’t know what to say. Shiro feels like a jerk for making her feel that way, but it’s irrational. This break has been hard on both of them. He knows that. It’s like he’s lost his best friend, and he’s sure she must feel some of that loneliness, too.

            A hot guilt prickles inside his stomach – a creature stirring in its burrow. It lives there, a constant presence ever since his dinner with Keith, thriving off of him the longer it stays like a parasite.

            The taste of beer in his mouth is suddenly too sour. He inches the bottle away from him, the rumble of glassware sliding over counter the only sound between them. The silence when he stops stretches between them infinitely, painfully grating against his conscience. He can’t tell her about Keith. It’s disgustingly selfish of him to keep it a secret, but he just can’t bear hearing what she’d have to say, or seeing the raw betrayal in her eyes. It would kill him.

            And if she wasn’t upset? If she was accepting, or worse, supportive?

            There’s a finite end to their marriage lurking right outside his peripherals, and he’s just not ready to coax it into the light.

            Allura moves to take another slice of pizza, looking more worn down than she had when he came in. Shiro winces because it’s his fault. They were having an alright time before he pointed at the elephant in the room. He needs to focus on something other than the distance between them if they hope to reconnect, or even just find peace after a tiring shift.

            He casts for something to say as he takes his own slice. “Have you talked with Matt recently?”

            She nods, hair bouncing behind her. He longs to run his hands through it. “He invited me to his party, but I wasn’t able to take off. I did send a card, of course, but I’m afraid most of our correspondence as of late has just been texting.”

            Shiro hums to show he’s listening, though he doesn’t know how he should reply. Saying he went to the party might seem like he’s scolding her for not making time. It could also open the door to her finding out about Keith. The thought makes his heart race.  

            It never used to be this hard to speak to her. He remembers leaning against porch railings and talking for hours in the night air about anything – classes, friends, dreams, stars, family history. More than once they’d caught sight of the sun peeking over the horizon and laughed, embarrassed at how caught up they’d gotten in conversation.

            “You’re going out with him on Friday, yes?” Allura asks.

            Shiro blinks. He turns to look at the little calendar they have pinned to their fridge under a magnetic business card Coran gave them, and sure enough it’s already the week he promised to let Matt drag him “on an adventure”.

            “Uh, yeah. I didn’t realize that was this week.” He’d been so distracted with the guilt he’d lost track of time.

            “You’ll have to tell him I say hi,” she says. He nods and she takes a drink.

            The clock ticks loudly while they finish their pizza. Shiro finds he isn’t very hungry.

            His phone buzzes and Allura smiles when she hears it. “Speak of the devil.”

            But it’s Keith. Shiro _knows_ it’s Keith without looking, because Keith has sent him texts every day, checking in to see if he’s okay since he hasn’t been coming around. It takes Shiro hours to swallow back the guilt enough to respond, and when he does it’s with the bare minimum. He’s been telling Keith he has a big project at work that keeps him busy, but the lie just spins his stomach tighter.

            Shiro tries to force a grin but feels like he’s just baring his teeth at his wife. She watches him as she finishes her drink, a little arch in her brow, but she says nothing when she moves to put the bottle in the recycling bin.

            “I’ll text him later,” Shiro says, belatedly, with too much forced casualty to sound genuine.

            Allura stares at him for a long beat and says, “Okay.”

            They stare at each other. The clock ticks a steady rhythm.

            “Thank you for dinner,” Allura says eventually.

            Shiro nods. “Yeah, sure.” She yawns wide, raising a fist to cover her mouth. “Anytime.”

            “ _Hah_ , I’m still rather exhausted,” she says on the tail end of her yawn. “I think I’m just going to go back to bed.”

            “Okay,” he says.

            She smiles a little. “Goodnight, Shiro.”

            She’s half out the doorway before he’s said, “Goodnight,” back.

 

            Matt refuses to answer any of his questions about this so called adventure on Friday night. He just forces Shiro into his passenger seat when he arrives and promises Shiro will like where they’re going.

            “You’re not dragging me to some strip club or something, are you?” Shiro asks, not because Matt actually would, but because he can’t think of anywhere else that would match up with Matt’s ominous promise.

            “Don’t make it weird, Takashi,” Matt huffs, scrunching his face.

            Shiro crosses his arms. “You’re the one who’s being weird.”

            Matt doesn’t answer for a few miles, paying close mind to the road. Then he turns onto the highway, which could take them anywhere from this point.

            “Look, just trust me,” he says as he merges. “You trust me, don’t you?”

            “Against all better judgement,” Shiro sighs. His phone buzzes.

            “Who’s that?” Matt glances over. It’s half curious and half accusatory.

            Shiro’s stomach turns. “It’s uh, a work email. Veronica sent me some docs for Monday’s meeting.”

            Keith’s name stares up at him from the homescreen notification. The text preview tells him it’s another anxious but hopeful text – Keith’s hoping he’ll be free this weekend.

            Shiro’s desperately casting around his mind for a reasonable excuse to skip out when Matt shakes his head. Firmly he says, “Well put that away. This is a work free zone.”

            About three miles down they pass a work zone sign. Shiro bursts out laughing, and Matt mutters something under his breath about universal irony. The relief laughter brings is breathtaking. By the time his humor subsides, Shiro feels significantly more relaxed, like he’s actually shaken off some of the weight on his shoulders.

            He turns his phone off for the night and settles back in his seat. Maybe he does just need to let go for a bit, let Matt take control for the night and just let things happen.

            “Pick us a good song,” Matt says, gesturing to his phone, which is resting in the cup holder, hooked up to the aux cord. “We’ve got a long drive.”

            Shiro flips through Matt’s playlists and cracks up when he finds one called “Sweet Memes Are Made of These.” That’s just begging to be clicked.

            The booming “Some ** _body_** ” of All Star cuts through the quiet peace of the car like a gunshot and has Matt crying out “Yas!” and laughing wildly. Shiro can’t maintain any sort of composure watching his best friend bob his head along to the beat like it’s the world’s greatest musical composition. By the time the chorus hits, Matt’s scream-singing and Shiro has tears in his eyes.

            “Oh man,” Matt says when the song comes to an end. “I can’t believe this is the one you went for.”

            Shiro grins from the passenger seat and shrugs loosely. He’s about to say something like “It seemed appropriate,” but the opening narration of Actual Cannibal Shia LaBeouf demands solemn and attentive silence.

            “ _You’re walking in the woods. There’s no one around and your phone is dead. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him._ ”

            They whisper “Shia LaBeouf” in grave unison.

 

            Matt’s carefully handcrafted playlist carries them through an hour and a half long car trip, rick rolling them once and permanently ingraining What’s New Pussycat so deep into Shiro’s psyche he’s not sure he’ll ever get the sound of Tom Jones wailing “whoa” to stop echoing inside his skull. Somehow Matt is unphased. Shiro chalks it up to his being an agent of chaos and decides not to ask questions.

            He recognizes the terrain they’re driving through now. He hasn’t taken this route in years, but after a few more miles Matt takes their exit, and Shiro watches their old college town sprawl out in front of them.

            “Where are we going?” he asks again. They cruise down main street, nostalgia flooding his senses as he takes in the neon lights of their old stomping grounds. There’s the little tea house he used to study in, the game shop Matt worked at for the employee discount. Thace’s favorite pizza place and the parking lot where Ulaz nearly broke his leg one winter. The Goodwill, the slew of fast food chains, the little music and art stores that probably owed the school their livelihoods.

            “Best burgers in the universe,” Matt says. He takes a right at the light and pulls into Kaltenecker’s parking lot.

            “Oh my god.” Shiro’s mouth waters at the sensory memories just parking here brings. He’s always been a sucker for diner food, but nothing has ever compared to Kaltenecker’s.

            “I figured we could take this out to the lake and chill,” Matt says, unbuckling. “Stargaze away from all the light pollution.”

            “What did I do to deserve you?” Shiro asks reverently.

            Matt flashes him a wide grin and hops out of the car.

 

            It’s a short drive out to the lakeshore, but the lights of the town quickly fade away once they turn off main street. By the time Matt parks in the gravel lot, the darkness of nature has taken over.

            They settle on the hood of the car with takeout boxes spread between them, nursing milkshakes as they look out over the beach and up at the multitude of stars.

            Shiro digs into his burger and sighs dreamily. It’s like falling in love, the way pure joy sweeps through him with the warmth of his first bite.

            “I can’t believe Florona recognized us,” Matt says, swirling a fry through his shake. Shiro and Thace used to give him hell for it, but worse is the fact that he got Allura to start doing it, too.

            “I’m surprised she still works there,” Shiro says.

            Somewhere not too far away, a frog starts up a warbling song. The night air is cool and thin, calming and peaceful in ways that the city can never be. It’s also laced with a murky scent that takes Shiro years back, to all the nights they used to hang out on these shores.

            “Hey,” Matt says, “remember that time we went skinny dipping?”

            Shiro makes a face. “You mean the time _you_ went skinny dipping while I tried to talk you out of it.”

            “The water’s clean, I was fine.”

            “You were sick for a week after that. By the time I fished you out your lips were blue.”

            Matt waves him off. “You gotta learn to live a little, Shiro.”

            Shiro huffs. “At least it’s better than the time you and Allura tried to chicken fight Ulaz and Thace.”

            “Oh man,” Matt sighs. His face splits with a grin. “That was great.”

            “I almost drowned.”

            “You did not, you big baby.” Matt pushes at his shoulder. “You weren’t even over your head.”

            “I _thought_ I was.”

            “That’s what you get for drinking and swimming.”

            Shiro pouts. “Thace makes his drinks too damn strong.”

            Matt nods solemnly. “Man has an iron liver. You talk to him lately?”

            Shiro shakes his head. He takes a sip of his shake and looks up at the stars, tracing familiar constellations with his eyes. It’s just entered Scorpio season, which means it’ll be Thace’s birthday soon.

            “We should start planning Christmas,” Matt mumbles. “Who’s turn is it?”

            Shiro grimaces. “Mine and Allura’s.”

            Matt hisses in a breath and looks sideways at him, eyes wide with concern. Shiro looks back at the dark waters and rubs the back of his neck. Thace and Ulaz don’t know about the break. Shiro isn’t looking forward to that conversation, either.

            “We can talk about something else,” Matt says. Shiro looks up at him. He’s biting his lip as he gives Shiro and apologetic look. “My plan was to get your mind off of whatever shit’s going on, not bring it up.”

            Shiro shrugs. It seems like they say the same thing every time they hang out.

            “It’s kind of inevitable, I think. I have a hard time escaping it myself.”

            He ducks his head and stares at his hands. He hears Matt set his milkshake aside and shift to face him. The air’s heavy again and it makes Shiro want to cringe. He needs to stop ruining their hangouts like this.

            “It’s worse, isn’t it?” Matt asks quietly. Shiro makes a loose motion with his shoulders – less of a shrug and more of a concession.

            “Honestly?” he mumbles, and he catches Matt nodding in his periphery. Shiro takes a deep breath. “I… don’t think it’s going to work out.”

            His throat is tight when he says it, voice so small he can barely hear it himself. He shrinks down into himself, shoulders hunching like that can protect him from his emotions. His eyes sting, tears prickling in the corners. Matt rubs a soothing hand along his back and scoots a little closer.

            “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. Shiro makes the loose motion again. It sounds more like they’re talking about a death in the family than the end of a relationship, but maybe that’s fitting. Matt did say he was acting like he was in mourning.

            “It’s not your fault,” he mumbles when he can manage it around the throbbing in his throat.

            Matt shakes his head and squeezes Shiro’s side. “It still sucks,” he says.

            “Yeah. Yeah it does.”

            The crickets are loud in their ears, and Shiro is grateful to have them fill the long, miserable silence. The tears find their way out and trail down his face silent but steady. They patter softly against his knuckles when they fall from his chin. If Matt notices, he doesn’t comment.

            Quite some time passes before Matt says, emphatically, “Life fucking sucks.”

            “Tch,” Shiro huff-laughs. He lifts a hand to wipe water off his chin and smiles despite himself. “Yeah, it kind of does.”

            Matt pats his back. “I want a refund.”

            “Not all the time, though,” Shiro says. He looks up at the moon, hanging near full over the water. He remembers howling at it once with Ulaz, much to Thace’s chagrin. They still do that, now and again, if only to get on his nerves. The thought brings a half smile to Shiro’s lips.

            Matt crooks a leg and leans against it. “Just, do yourself a favor?”

            “Hm?”

            Matt stares out at the lake as he speaks. “Take care of yourself?”

            Shiro frowns. “I do.”

            Matt shakes his head and glances at him. “I don’t mean like, eat three meals a day. You should do that, though,” he says as an aside. “I mean self-care. Sleep in on the weekends, you know? Or splurge on Starbucks and play with cats at the shelter. Or…”

            He stops himself. Shiro hears the moment he decides against whatever he was going to say. Matt knows him well – he’s probably right to hold back – but despite the trickle of dread in his stomach, some self-destructive urge probes his curiosity.

            “Or?”

            Matt gives him a long look, assessing, and turns back to the moon.

            “Start seeing Keith?”

            The night seems quiet in spite of the cricket chorus around them. Matt says it so gently, like it’s an obvious answer Shiro’s been too stubborn to take. Like he’s pleading for Shiro to finally give in to reason.

            Shiro draws his knees up and leans on them, crossing his arms and staring up at the moon as well.

            “It’s not that simple,” he mumbles. He knows that first hand, now. Seeing Allura is like slicing open a pocket of guilt and letting it flood his system – he couldn’t possibly tell her what he’s done. But no matter how long he holds his tongue, he isn’t going to ease the ache of loneliness out of his bones unless he finds someone to spend time with.

            Worst of all, he misses Keith.

            It hurts when he lets himself think about it, and he only has himself to blame. He has a phone full of messages in the car, invitations to branch out of his depression and accept some glimmer of happiness, but all he can do is shut down and block it out. It’s like he’s given up control of himself. He’s letting his guilt run his life, and sooner or later it’s going to push everyone away.

            Matt shifts and turns to face him, expression grim with sympathy. “I think it’s only as complicated as you decide to make it.”

            A soft breeze rattles the branches above them and sends leaves skittering across the gravel. Matt lifts a hand to keep his hair out of his eyes, and Shiro knows, deep down, that he’s right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 is due December 7th!
> 
> You can reblog this chapter [here](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/post/179676297960/titanium-brand), and follow me on [tumblr](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to see updates on my fics or copious amounts of sheith fanart. Or chat with me -- I love making new friends. <3
> 
> Happy early Thanksgiving to my American readers! Don't forget to vote if you're old enough!
> 
> Next time you see me I'll be a year older!


	8. Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tired of constantly second guessing and depriving himself, Shiro finally commits to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!
> 
> This chapter's a bit of a mixed bag, I think, but it was fun to write. Please forgive any astronomy inaccuracies -- attempts were made at research, but I don't claim to be an expert, hahaha.
> 
> I've been quite busy this past month, between preparing for the Sheith Secret Santa exchange, starting a new job, and working on this chapter. I hope you'll forgive that it's unbeta'd -- I only finished yesterday! But I wanted to get it out tonight, before a snowstorm hits me. 
> 
> Enjoy!~

            Matt’s words weigh heavy on his mind throughout the weekend. Shiro stays the night and they spend their Saturday playing video games and watching terrible movies, but the thought still echoes in the back of his mind like a song he can’t get out.

            Once he goes back home Saturday night, the state of things is thrust back in his face.

            Allura has a rare weekend off, but she keeps to herself. She makes a few lengthy calls to Romelle and Coran, discussing the details of their ongoing investigation, but aside from that it’s a lazy day she doesn’t spend in Shiro’s company. Whenever she glides out of her room and to the kitchen for a snack, he smiles and waves to her, just a tiny motion of acknowledgment, which she returns in passing. It’s comfortably familiar, but hardly anything other than platonic. A roommate’s greeting.

            It’s about time he admits it. Things aren’t going to go back to the way they were.

            They should talk. They should sit down and have a discussion about where their relationship is going – or not going. Set things straight once and for all and stop torturing themselves. Objectively he knows that. But there’s a difference between admitting a loss and embracing it. That conversation could only end one way, and he’s not ready to let go. Some small piece of him feeds off of the fact that she hasn’t sat them down, either.

            Shiro gets an anxious chill in his stomach when he realizes Keith’s texts have stopped. The last one he has is the text from Friday night, which he never replied to. Shiro kicks himself over it. He has a new chance at happiness with Keith, but ignoring him like this is a surefire way to ruin that. What if Keith’s realized he’s been lying about being busy? What if Keith’s given up on being his friend, or his more-than-a-friend? What are they, even? Are they anything?

            The thought of staying just friends with Keith sharpens the edge of loneliness inside Shiro’s chest. He wants more. He wants to feel the warmth of Keith against his chest and the soft press of lips against his own. He wants the laughter and the jokes and the lightweightedness that comes with being at Keith’s side.

            _It’s only as complicated as you make it,_ Matt said. Shiro’s ready for something simple.

           

            He wrestles with himself throughout the workday on Monday, unsure of how he wants to go about this. It feels disingenuous to just text Keith like he hasn’t been avoiding him, or to type out an apology instead of delivering it in person. But maybe he ought to warn Keith of what’s coming? Give him a heads up that Shiro will finally be at Blaytz’s tonight? Would that give Keith the wrong impression? Make him anxious, or even angry?

            Shiro’s overthinking this and he knows it, but it’s hard to escape the spiral of his thoughts. He tries to focus on his work, but his mind keeps slipping back to his phone and his evening plans. It’s frustrating as much as it is stressful. Before lunchtime even hits he forces himself out of his office to talk to Veronica about that Slav meeting to try and distract himself, but either she suspects he’s procrastinating, or he’s done something to irk her, because her replies come clipped and cold, cutting off any chance he has of dilly dallying. They get the meeting sorted in record time, and Shiro’s left to slink back into his office, wondering whether he’s imagined the simmering anger he though he caught a glimpse of in her eyes.

 

            It’s a chilly night, as late autumn makes its presence known in the shape of icy winds. Shiro regrets not wearing his scarf as he makes his way down the path he hasn’t taken in over a week.

            It isn’t until he’s opening the bar door that he remembers he still owes Blaytz for those drinks the last time he was here. He has the cash, but it’s embarrassing that he’s taken this long to pay his tab. Especially when Blaytz allowed it with the assumption that he’d be back the next day. Hopefully he isn’t too upset about it.

            The first thing Shiro sees as he comes in is Keith in his usual seat. He glances up when he catches Shiro in his periphery, but before Shiro can take it as a good sign he’s quickly looked away. There almost seems to be a guilt about it, but Shiro might just be projecting his own feelings. Either way, his stomach turns.

            Keith definitely knows Shiro’s been avoiding him, Shiro decides. Not that it was very subtle, with the half-hearted replies he was sending him throughout the week. But after not bothering to reply to his messages from Friday night, it must have become obvious.

            Seeing the way Keith shies away from him makes Shiro feel like a royal asshole.

            Blaytz looks at him from down the bar when he steps up to his usual stool, and his mouth goes from a pleasant smile to a tight line. His eyes are harsh and judging. Shiro winces.

            “I have the money I owe,” he calls, holding the bills up to be seen. Blaytz slowly sets down the glass he was cleaning and comes to take them. Pointedly he looks at Keith and then back to Shiro and says nothing.

            It’s not often Shiro is made to feel small. Under the glare Blaytz is giving him, he shrinks down to about two inches tall.

            Blaytz moves on to another customer without a word, leaving Shiro with nothing to do but gingerly take his seat. Keith is looking down at his hands, shoulders tense and raised; he looks braced for impact. Shiro’s mouth runs dry and he struggles to find the right words to start this. All he can think is that he’s the one who put the tension in Keith’s frame.

            Some panicked part of his mind begs him to back out now, but he squashes it down. He’s done enough avoiding already.

            “Hey.” It comes out a little more forceful than he meant for it to, but it’s a start. Keith jerks his head up, eyes wide with surprise and maybe fear. It only lasts half a second before he closes himself off, hardening the lines of his face, but the cut of it still stings Shiro like nettles pushed into his skin.

            Shiro gives it a moment, to see if Keith will say ‘hey’ back, but he just stares expectantly. Shiro clears his throat.

            “I…” He gives Keith an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I’ve been avoiding you. That isn’t right.”

            There’s an unreadable shift in Keith’s eyes. He settles his right hand on the bend of his left arm, crossing them on the counter, and otherwise doesn’t move.

            Shiro doesn’t know what he expected, or why he though he’d get more than raw silence. Keith’s still watching him, which is better than if he’d up and left, but not by much with the way he looks at Shiro. In the time he’s taken to get to know Keith, he’d forgotten how intimidating he could be.

            Shiro clears his throat and powers through. “I had a hell of a week, and—”

            Keith’s brows shoot up right before he turns away, scowling down at his glass with a “Tch,” sound. Shiro shuts his mouth and ducks his head.

            “You’re right,” he mumbles. “I’m making excuses.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, brushing back the white strip of bangs.

            Keith drinks without looking at him, quiet anger or betrayal simmering beneath the bar lights. Shiro can feel eyes on the back of his head and knows Blaytz is probably watching them. He seemed protective over Keith before, like a father figure or an old friend, and Shiro assumes Keith probably told him everything that’s happened.

            The level of shame that courses through him brings back an echo of his mother’s voice in his mind. She’d lecture him for so long if she were around to hear about this.

            “You could have told me if you weren’t into it,” Keith says. Shiro frowns, lowering his hand. Keith glances at him from the corner of his eye, a fast flick that Shiro would have missed if he wasn’t already looking.

            When Keith doesn’t say anything more, Shiro leans an arm on the counter and moves closer, tilting his head to try and get a better look at Keith.

            “I am. I do want to be with you. That’s not why.” The look Keith gives him has no trust, which is justified, but it still breaks Shiro’s heart to see. “I’ve been avoiding you because I had a lot to sort out. My life’s a bit of a mess right now. But I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

            Keith has such an impassive poker face that it’s difficult to tell if he’s even heard Shiro. Shiro watches him for some kind of acknowledgement, feeling progressively worse the longer they sit in silence. Keith’s eyes are critical, either judging or thinking. Shiro hopes he’s receptive to his apology, but that may be more than is fair to ask for.

            Keith puts a bit more force into his stare, tilting his head to level with Shiro. It’s a serious, almost offensive expression even as his body language reads defensive. Shiro straightens up, preparing himself. “Are you sure you can even handle doing this right now? If you’ve got too much going on, maybe you shouldn’t add to it.”

            The hardness in his eyes fades, giving way to earnest concern. There’s a vulnerability to it that makes Shiro lean forward and lay his hand over Keith’s on the counter. “I am sure.” Keith looks at their hands and back up. He doesn’t pull away, though, and Shiro takes it as a good sign. “I spent the week with my thoughts and then talked things out with Matt. He put it in perspective.”

            Keith gives him a wary look, seeming to be searching for words. Shiro can’t help holding his breath, promising himself again and again that he’ll do better from here out, but any promise is moot if Keith doesn’t trust him to keep it. He hasn’t given him much reason to lately.

            Keith glances down the bar, then back to Shiro, taking an audible breath in, like he’s bracing himself. “I don’t normally do…” He casts around for the right word, gesturing with his free hand as though it’s a physical thing he can catch. “Undefined things, I guess.”

            There’s a resignation to the way he says it, a lingering, conceding ‘but’ that he can’t bring himself to say. Shiro shakes his head and squeezes Keith’s hand.

            “I’m not asking you to,” he says.

            Keith runs his tongue across his bottom lip, brushing teeth across it for the briefest of moments before glancing back down the bar. Shiro follows his gaze back to where Blaytz is talking to another patron. He seems fully engrossed in his conversation, but then he shoots a quick glance their way and Shiro catches the assessing light in his eyes.

            “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this here,” Keith mumbles. Shiro nods and lifts his hand so Keith can fish out his wallet and pay for his drink.

            Keith doesn’t say anything as he slips off his stool, so Shiro quietly follows him out and around the side of the building to where he’s parked his bike.

            “I like you,” Keith says, facing the bike. He speaks evenly, but the sound is a little drowned out by the cold wind and the sound of traffic further down the road. They’re alone in the parking lot. Keith runs a gloved hand over the sleek metal of the bike and stares half at it, half at something distant that Shiro can’t see. There’s a shade to his eyes that strikes Shiro as mournful. “I thought there was something here.”

            Shiro raises a hand but decides against it last minute and drops the motion halfway through. It comes off as a helpless little attempt at reaching Keith.

            “I think there is,” he says, and then, “if you still want there to be.”

            They stand in relative quiet for a few minutes, Shiro watching Keith for a response and Keith staring half-seeing down at his bike. His jacket is a little thin and Shiro notices a slight shiver to his frame. He frowns and moves closer. Keith crosses his arms to keep warm.

            When he finally looks up from the bike, he’s biting his lip. It’s a moment before he speaks.

            “If we’re going to do this,” it comes out slowly, edged with an almost sigh, “you need to be serious.”

            That stings, but it’s fair. Keith must feel a bit led on. Shiro kissed him, assured him he was okay with the idea of the two of them being together, and then just bailed. After he’d seen how anxious and vulnerable Keith had been over the kiss.

            Running away from his problems causes heartache for more than just himself. He hadn’t fully considered that before.

            “I am serious,” he says. He meets Keith’s eyes and gives him a heavy, earnest look. “I panicked a little – like I said before, I haven’t… haven’t started a relationship in a long time. I started doubting myself.”

            Keith shifts awkwardly. He’s watching Shiro now with guarded eyes, shoulders hunched and collar popped up against the wind. Shiro longs to wrap him up in his arms, to bring him in from the cold. Warm him. Protect him.

            “So what changed your mind?”

            Shiro smiles meekly. “Talking to Matt. He told me I was overthinking things, and that I should just relax. Not turn away something that made me happy.” It’s a little silly that this is the admission that makes him blush, but just the same Shiro feels the heat of his blood burn fiery against the wind on his face. “It sounds like common sense,” he says, rubbing shyly at the back of his neck. “Something that should be obvious – ‘don’t turn down a great thing.’ But I don’t know. Somehow when he said it, everything felt better in perspective. Does that make sense?”

            Keith licks his lips and nods. He glances down and then back up and admits, “I talked to Lance and Hunk this weekend. But it was probably a different kind of conversation.” The second part comes out rushed, half muttered while Keith turns his head to stare off toward the bar. His cheeks are pink from the cold air.

            Shiro takes a step forward, moving to finally wrap Keith up in his warmth, but an uncertainty flicks across his mind at the last minute. He hesitates. When Keith turns back to him, his own uncertainty is clear in his eyes. Slowly, the wind dies out.

            “What are we?” Shiro asks quietly.

            “What do you want us to be?” Keith asks back.

            Shiro runs his left thumb over the bare base of his ring finger in a newly developing anxious habit. “Do you want to try dating?”

            Keith shifts his weight back and forth and takes a moment. “Not if you don’t want to,” he decides. There’s an uncomfortable note to the way he says it, like the words sting on their way out.

            Shiro reaches forward, settling a hand on Keith’s elbow. He half expects Keith to pull back, but the other only jumps a little and then stares down at his hand.

            “I’d like to try,” Shiro says softly. He meets Keith’s gaze and tries to say with his eyes everything he’s feeling. How earnestly he means this. How apologetic he is for the past weeks’ silence. How much he truly wants to make up for it. “Do you want to?”

            Keith stares at him for a long moment, the same unreadable stare Shiro’s grown used to seeing from him. The one he uses when he’s thinking, or processing, or trying to understand something presented to him. Shiro’s mouth feels dry from the intensity of it, but he tries to be patient rather than anxious. Keith’s making his decision. He deserves all the time in the world for that.

            Still, when Keith answers, Shiro feels a bit like he’s finally let out a breath he’d been holding.

            “Okay. We’re dating.” Keith says it with a short decisive nod that bounces his hair.

            It’s settled so simply that Shiro’s left with an odd, surreal feeling tingling in his stomach. “We’re dating?”

            “We’re dating.”

            “Okay.”

            Just like that.

            Finally feeling like he’s allowed, Shiro moves to Keith’s side and wraps him up in his arms. Keith’s stiff for a half-beat, enough to make Shiro pause, but then he leans into the embrace and shudders.

            “It’s cold out here,” Shiro says.

            “A bit,” Keith mumbles half against his chest.

            “We could go back inside. Tell Blaytz he doesn’t have to murder me after all.”

            Keith snorts. “Nah.”

            “I have to clear my name, Keith,” Shiro laughs. “He looked ready to ban me from the bar.”

            Keith pulls back enough to turn in Shiro’s arms and look up at him, one eyebrow cocked as a little smile crosses his face. “You can stand to sweat a little. Serves you right for ghosting me.”

            Shiro winces a little but smiles softly down at him. “Fair enough. I am sorry about that though.”

            “I forgive you,” Keith mumbles. Lightly he taps the pads of his fingers against Shiro’s chest. It’s less a beat and more a soft assurance.

            After a few moments, Keith pulls just outside of his hold and turns, half facing the road.

            “So,” Shiro hums.

            Keith meets his eyes and repeats “So,” back at him with genuine seriousness.

            Shiro can’t help but smile. Earnesty always seems so cute when Keith wears it. “So, where do we go from here?”

            Keith considers it with a cute little twist of the mouth, while a passing car casts moving shadows over his face with its headlights. “Do we have to go anywhere?” Shiro gives him a confused look. Keith straightens. “I mean, we just got here.” He gestures loosely to the parking lot. “Can’t we just be here?”

            When he nods to the bike and makes the same gesture, Shiro furrows his brow, bemused.

            “ _Here_ here? As in, literally the parking lot?”

            Keith’s eyes shine with determination and challenge. “Why not? It’s nice out, and the stars are bright tonight.”

            They both tilt their heads to catch sight of the handful of stars hovering around the full moon. It’s nothing like the view Shiro and Matt got at the lake a few days ago, but Keith’s right that it’s more than can usually be seen past the city’s light pollution.

            “There’s Polaris,” Keith says, raising his hand to point out one of the brightest stars. “If you arc across those stars there, you’ve got the Little Dipper.”

            Shiro smiles up at the upside down ladle shape Keith’s tracing across the sky. “If you head that way,” he says, pointing as well, “you’ll go through Andromeda, and then see those four, in the diamond shape?” They’re a little hard to make out, but Keith nods.

            “Yeah, sure. That’s the Great Square. It’s part of Pegasus.” Keith drops his hand, smiling warmly up at the flickering lights of the stars. Shiro can’t help but feel a little impressed.

            “I take it you like stars.”

            Keith nods. The breeze picks back up, gently blowing his bangs out of his eyes, and suddenly Shiro could care less about staring at the little beads of light above their heads. The light of the full moon brightens Keith’s eyes and highlights his face while he stares up with a little pleased smile.

            “I do,” he says. “They make me feel small.”

            “You know, most people would say that’s a bad thing.”

            Shiro smiles at the casual shrug Keith gives him and the way it makes his little smile stretch out into something prouder. There’s an easy confidence about it that makes Shiro’s heart flip.

            “I like them too,” he says. He takes a step closer and reaches down, until their hands brush. Keith glances sideways and casts that radiant smile at him. Like Shiro is a sight comparable to the glowing heavens. Shiro’s breathless as he intertwines their fingers.

            Keith looks back up at the sky, so Shiro follows suit.

            “Somewhere over there is Pisces,” Shiro says, waving with his free hand at the darkness near Pegasus. “I’m a Pisces, you know.”

            Keith snorts. “I don’t know shit about zodiacs. I’m interested in _astronomy_ , not _astrology_.”

            Shiro laughs and cocks his head to the side. “You have to at least know your sign.”

            Keith shrugs. “Scorpio?”

            “Yeah? That’s around now. When’s your birthday?”

            Keith drops his hand. Shiro frowns and reaches out, but Keith crosses his arms and curls into himself again.

            “This past Saturday.”

            Shiro’s stomach drops out.

            Keith texted him, he realizes with horrible clarity. Keith texted him Friday night, while he was with Matt, hoping Shiro would be free to hang out that weekend. He’d just ignored it.

            “Shit,” he breathes.

            Keith shuffles his feet. “Yeah.” His voice is small against the sound of distant traffic.

            “Keith,” Shiro mumbles. Keith keeps his gaze glued to the stars. “I’m so sorry I missed your birthday.”

            Keith shrugs in a tight motion and doesn’t quite drop his shoulders back down. There’s a long stretch of awkward silence. Shiro watches his face for a sign of what he’s thinking, but Keith just continues to stare, the smile he wore before now a tight line.

            Eventually, he sighs. “You didn’t know,” he says. He’s right, but it doesn’t make Shiro feel any less like a jerk. “I forgive you.”

            “I’ll make it up to you,” Shiro promises.

            Keith turns his head to face him, raising an eyebrow and shooting him a look that’s at once skeptical and surprised. Slowly he lowers his arms to hang back at his sides.

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah,” Shiro nods. Keith studies him for a moment, then returns the nod.

            Gingerly, he reaches out and takes Shiro’s hand. They’re quiet for a minute.

            “My dad taught me,” Keith says eventually and turns back to the stars. “We used to spend nights on the roof, pointing out constellations. You could see a lot more out in the desert.”

            Suddenly the distant, loving look on Keith’s face makes a lot of sense. Shiro smiles and grips his hand tighter.

            “I didn’t have a dad,” he says. Keith glances his way. “Not one I knew, anyway. I had two moms, and then my grandfather. He had this great telescope we used to use to look at the stars together.”

            “That’s awesome,” Keith grins at him.

            “Yeah, it was the best. I really wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid, so it was sort of the coolest thing in the world for me.”

            “An astronaut? You’re too tall.”

            Shiro turns back to the stars as his own wave of nostalgia washes over him. “Yeah, I know. I was so disappointed when I hit my growth spurt.”

            There’s a scoff to his left. “That must have been _terrible_ , waking up tall.”

            Shiro has to laugh at the playful bitterness of it. He drops Keith’s hand to wrap his arm around his waist and pull him back in. Keith make a sound of protest, but still nestles into his side once he’s there.

            “Don’t worry,” Shiro says solemnly. “I’m making good use of it.”

            “Oh yeah?” Keith cocks his head. “You play basketball or something?”

            “Nah,” Shiro shakes his head and flashes Keith a grin. “I help out little old ladies in the supermarket. And Matt. It pisses him off when I pull stuff off of high shelves for him.”

            Keith huffs with would-be indignance, but Shiro can see the peek of teeth from the smile he’s poorly concealing. “Anyone would be. Pidge gets mad at me for being taller than her, and she’s the only person I know who’s shorter than me.”

            “Well then you have to live that up.” Shiro nudges him in the side with his hand, tugging Keith tighter against his side. “Take advantage of the rare opportunity.”

            “No way.” Keith shakes his head and sends his hair flicking across his eyes and against Shiro’s cheek. “We short people have to stick together. We have a bond.”

            He says it with so much conviction that Shiro can’t help snickering. Keith gives him a challenging glare as that half suppressed smile finally breaks out across his lips.

            “How so?” Shiro asks.

            “We’re closer to hell,” Keith says, quick and matter of fact. “We’re going to drag everyone down with us.” The grin takes a conspiratory twist that shatters any of Shiro’s remaining composure.

            He laughs, long, hard, and deep enough to feel it in his stomach. Keith starts snickering beside him, either unable to keep up his joke or else amused by how funny Shiro’s found it. Fondness runs warm though Shiro’s chest with every roll of laughter, until it overwhelms him. He hugs Keith closer and wraps him up in a full blown hug, tight and loving. Keith snickers some more while Shiro nuzzles into his neck.

            “You’re so cute,” Shiro mumbles against his skin. Keith scoffs and pushes him back with a shove to the shoulders.

            There’s a moment’s beat then, where Shiro is staring down at Keith’s face, illuminated by the light of the full moon and with little specks of starlight reflected in his eyes. Shiro’s laughter fades out quickly in the wake of the wave of affection that washes over him.

            The moment’s broken when Keith leans up and Shiro leans down on instinct. Their lips slide together, soft and slick and perfect, and for the long moment when Shiro holds Keith by the waist and Keith presses his hands against his chest, the rest of the world falls away.

            Keith tastes a little like whiskey and a lot like their night together almost two weeks ago. Something signature and undefinable, like distilled starlight, with a gravitational pull to match. Shiro pulls back just enough to kiss him again, repeating the motions until he pulls back and starts over again. They press kisses to each other’s lips in a rolling pattern that simplifies the world down to its base elements. Heat. Pressure. The solid warmth of another person, nestled perfectly in the span of his arms.

            When they stop, Shiro has no idea how long it’s been. Keith runs his tongue over his bottom lip in a gesture that lures Shiro back in, but the way he shivers in Shiro’s arms says they need to stop.

            “You’re freezing,” Shiro murmurs.

            Keith blinks once like he’s still clearing his head from the haze of it all. He nods and looks over at his bike. “Yeah,” he says. He sounds far away.

            When Keith turns back, it only takes a few beats before Shiro falls back into orbit. Another kiss, and then a second, a third. Keith pulls back with a sigh.

            “I should go,” he repeats. Shiro nods. It’s another long moment before either of them moves.

            Slowly, Shiro slides his hands away from Keith’s waist and lets him step back and toward his bike. “We should hang out soon,” he says. “I mean, besides just this bar.”

            Helmet clasped between his hands, Keith tilts his head. “Go on a date?”

            Shiro shrugs loosely. “That’s how this is supposed to work, right?”

            Keith considers that for a moment. “Alright, where would you want to go?”

            Shiro thinks of the places they’ve already gone together, and how each of those outings were practically dates already. They’ve hit a lot of the classic date locations by now without even trying.

            “I don’t know,” he says against the wind that starts to pick back up. “We can figure out something, though.”

            Keith nods absently, eyes trailing down to his boots. He shifts his weight for a moment. Clears his throat. Drums his fingers against the helmet.

            When he looks up again, there’s a raw and vulnerable light back in his eyes. “Stay in touch?” His voice is firm, but the question is marked by the arch of his eyebrows. An anxious expression. Shiro’s stomach twists with guilt for putting it there.

            He nods as firmly as he can. “Yeah, I’ll text you.” He speaks it like the promise it is.

            There’s relief in the way Keith’s smile lights up his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. It's a little hard to believe I've been working on this story for 8 months now!  
> I'm thinking about taking the next month off of this fic. Between holidays, the secret santa exchange, and visiting loved ones, I'm going to be quite busy throughout most of December. For now, expect chapter 9 to come on February 1st.
> 
> A lot has happened since the last chapter. You can still find me on [tumblr](http://maple-moose-muffin.tumblr.com/), but I'm much less active after the recent policy change announcement. I'm more active on twitter now as [@maplmoosemuffin](https://twitter.com/maplmoosemuffin) (take note of the missing e!), which is where I'll be posting updates about this fic and others from now on. I'm now also on pillowfort.io as [MapleMooseMuffin](https://www.pillowfort.io/MapleMooseMuffin) and I'll be more active there as I get used to the site. 
> 
> Happy holidays, whether you've already started celebrations or you're still counting down the days. And if holidays aren't your thing, I hope the season is warm and safe for all of you <3 (But not too warm, for those of you in summer).
> 
> Here's hoping 2018 ends on a high note for all of you! Thanks for reading. <3


	9. Something Old, Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Keith share their first official date. Meanwhile, ghosts of the past start their haunting in the Halloween night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I'm back from my vacation and ready to work on this fic again. Thank you all for your patience and support <3
> 
> Getting back into the groove of writing after taking a few weeks off was a lot harder than I expected. This month has been a bit of a whirlwind, but I hope you'll enjoy this chapter none the less.  
> Technically speaking it's still Friday in my timezone, so I'm (just barely) on time, haha.
> 
> Enjoy!~

            Shiro holds himself to his promise, making a point of texting Keith daily. Simple [Good morning]’s and forwarded memes in the start of his day, the occasional lunch time comment left for Keith to smile at after his self defense classes. Little things leading up to their daily meetings at Blaytz’s, where they share light brushes of hands and fond looks under the bar lights and between hockey games. It’s all still so new and exciting, making his pulse race and his stomach flutter. But in a way it also feels natural, like they were always on course for this. Like they’ve hardly changed at all. Maybe it’s Keith’s casual bluntness, the raw honesty he approaches his entire life with that makes everything between them feel so matter of fact.

            Still Shiro’s never felt so right with anyone else in his life. At least not in a long time.

            Each evening he and Keith part ways in the parking lot with a warm embrace and a gentle kiss. They can’t stick around too late into the night, both having work during the week, and the kittens need tending in the evenings. Besides, Allura expects Shiro home, even if they no longer share a bed or the dinner table, and Shiro doesn’t want to lie to her any more than he has to. But their tender hours stolen between quitting time and the inevitable return home give Shiro the strength to push through until they meet again.

            The bulk of their texts come at night, after they’ve both gone home and had dinner, after Shiro’s slipped back to the guest room. Allura is usually already holed up in her bedroom anyway, but the eyes of Alfor’s portrait on the mantel feel heavy with reproach when Shiro texts Keith heart emojis in the living room.

            With busy weekday schedules, Shiro and Keith are only free for the date Shiro suggested during weekends.

            [would it b weird 2 do this sat?] Keith asks Wednesday evening.

            [No, why?]

            [halloween]

            It’s been a long time since Shiro’s celebrated the holiday himself. Matt lives for free candy and bad movies, but horror movies are rarely Shiro’s speed these days, and Allura often works holidays.

            [I don’t have any plans, then. We could go out.]

            [cool. what u wanna do?]

            [I bet not a lot of people are going to dinner. We could have a traditional dinner date.]

            [old school. sounds good.]

            Keith picks out the restaurant because he insists on paying for his own meal, and Shiro loses the fight against Keith’s pride even though he has plenty of money to cover them both. It’s a simple place – classy enough for a date but casual enough for plain clothes and a relaxed evening. Shiro hasn’t been there himself, but he knows where it is, and it’s easy enough for them both to get to.

            After that it feels like a long wait until Saturday, but still the weekend seems to sneak up on them.

            Shiro’s in a good mood when he comes out of the shower Saturday night. He’s still got forty minutes before he needs to be there, and his clothes are already picked out and lain across the bed for him. The dab of cologne he adds after combing his hair in the vanity mirror feels a little frivolous, but it makes his heart flutter pleasantly in his chest, and he hopes it’ll do the same for Keith.

            He’s all settled in to have a wonderfully pleasant night. His greatest mistake is assuming that Allura will have to work the night shift.

            Shiro’s keys jangle in his hand, tossed lightly up and down as he walks down the hall. He misses his catch when he sees her lounging on the couch, and they fall to the floor with a soft, discordant clatter.

            “Hey,” she says heavily, like she’s exhausted already. She has on a pretty black dress, but her stocking clad feet rest on the arm rest closest to him, and the witch’s hat on the coffee table is a little bit crumpled. There’s a bright orange plastic bowl beside it half filled with mini snickers.

            He stares at her quietly, put out both by her unexpected presence and the fact that something is clearly bothering her.

            “Uh… what are you up to?” He sees the remote in her hand and turns to look, but she just has the Netflix browsing screen pulled up, undecided.

            “Waiting for the children I suppose.” She gestures loosely to the candy bowl.

            He says, “It sounds like something’s on your mind,” before he can stop himself.

            Allura sighs and shifts, dragging her legs off the corner seat and tucking them up beside her as she sits up. He takes it she’s making space for him and comes to sit beside her.

            “I heard today that Zarkon had a heart attack.” She says it lowly, darkness layering over her words, but she looks troubled. Shiro keeps quiet, giving her space to continue if she wants to.

            It’s a long beat before she finally says, “He’s alright, but on bedrest for now. Apparently it’s been a few weeks.”

            “And we’re just hearing about it now?”

            “The family tried to keep it under wraps, when they thought it would be a quick recovery. For the sake of their pride, and to protect their stocks.” She lifts her head, tossing hair out of her face, and shifts to a mocking haughty tone. “If investors had doubts about the company’s future, they might back out.”

            He nods and gives her his own grim smile. The business of appearances and charisma for the sake of making a proper impression has always been a frustration for her, and he tends to agree. But he also gets the feeling there’s more to it than Allura has said. The pinch of her brow and the way she tugs at her bottom lip speaks of some internal conflict.

            “So they finally lost hold on the secret?” he guesses. “And the media is going off about it?”

            She sinks a little more into herself. Shiro frowns. He settles his hands on his knees, wary of how she’d react if he reached out for her after the way she flinched back last time.

            “They announced it themselves this afternoon. Lotor has taken over his father’s duties for the time being, in addition to his work in the company’s development labs.” She shifts, folding her arms across the tops of her knees and hunching in on herself. Her face is all grim thought lines and somber angles, the weight of her family’s history clouding her eyes.

            He knows that Lotor is somewhat of a sore spot for her. They were childhood friends, once. Leaning forward, he quietly asks, “Do you think this’ll change anything?”

            She shakes her head. “I’ve been wondering that myself. He and I haven’t spoken in so long; since we were children, before Zarkon betrayed my father.” The internal conflict in her eyes that’s been hovering through the whole of this conversation fades in a second. Allura tightens her jaw and glares, ice cold and merciless in her hatred. He’s seen the look before, always in this context, whenever the famous betrayal comes up, but every time it sends a chill straight down his spine. He can’t imagine how anyone could stand up against the full brunt of her fury.

            “You haven’t really told me much about him. Just that you two had playdates up until the chaos broke out.”

            She nods, and her hard look softens back into conflicted nostalgia. “He and I would play at being royalty. Lotor was one of the few children that insisted I must be a warrior princess, rather than some damsel in a tower, and I quite liked that. We were equals in our games.” She trails off, voice wistful at the end.

            It sounds like he was a decent kid, noble and charming, but that doesn’t mean anything for how he turned out as an adult. Especially not if he was raised by a man like Zarkon.

            Allura sighs again and frowns out at the bowl of candy she’s prepared for the trick or treaters. “I don’t know what to do.”

            Shiro watches her for a beat, but that’s all she says. He isn’t entirely sure what she means, though. What is there to do? Is there a chance for an alliance between the companies, or some retribution for the wrong done a generation ago?

            “What does your gut tell you?” he asks.

            Allura sits up a little more, folding her hands between her legs. “I don’t know. We were friends, once. It was long ago, but part of me wonders what could have been, I suppose. But what if he’s grown into the same sort of self-intitled narcissist as his father? I refuse to make a fool of myself.”

            The way she says it sounds like a distressed protest, like she’s being pressured into doing something by someone else. She’s fighting against herself, he realizes, torn between what she wants to do and what she thinks she should do. A position he’s been intimately familiar with lately. Somehow, seeing it in someone else feels validating. And since he needed Matt to push him into doing what he wanted, he figures she could use the nudge herself.

            “Well,” he says gently. She looks up at him, attentive. “You’re right that you don’t know who he is anymore. But you don’t have to make yourself vulnerable to him in order to find out. Honestly, trying to get too close too quickly would probably make you look a bit crass. He’d think you were only reaching out now because you heard he had power.”

            Her face falls, but she nods, eyes serious. “That’s a fair point. I hadn’t considered it, but he doesn’t know who I grew up to be, either.”

            The disappointment that takes her then is so palpable that he has to take her hand. Part of him expects her to pull away, but instead she gently squeezes his back. Letting him in under her shell and relying on him for the support. It’s like a knife between his ribs to realize that makes him feel worse.

            He’s getting better at swallowing down his guilt, but that doesn’t make it any easier on his conscience.

            He clears his throat. “That doesn’t mean you can’t reach out, though. He does have a father recovering from a dangerous health issue. Send condolences. It’ll be a good way to reopen communication between you two, and it’ll show him you’re willing to reconnect. Then it’s up to him what to do with that.”

            Allura’s eyes brighten the longer he talks, inspiration sparking through her confusion. She sits up straighter, smiling a little even. “I hadn’t thought of that. I was so focused – thank you.”

            He isn’t expecting her to lean into him, not quite a hug but far more affectionate than the brush of a hand. If she’d done this just a few months ago his heart would have soared in his chest. Instead he feels as though her touch has set his skin aflame.

            “You smell really nice, by the way.”

            Shiro flinches back and stammers, defensive. “I uh, I’m, I’m going out with Matt.”

            It’s a terrible lie. Allura tilts her head at him. “Really? Where are you two going that’s so fancy?”

            _Shit._ They both know for a fact that the only things Matt does on Halloween night are scare the shit out of himself with horror movies and stress his heart with obscene amounts of sugar. His Halloween parties were something of legend among their group in college, but they were quite the opposite of classy.

            “It’s um, it’s part of the costume.” As soon as he’s said it he knows he’s backing himself into a corner. He’s dressed in a casual button down and nice pants, something just a little too close to formal to be daily wear, but by no means a costume.

            Allura raises her brow, smile curled with amusement in the corner. She’s anticipating a good punchline, and Shiro doesn’t have one.

            “What are you supposed to be, then?”

            Shiro thinks desperately, saying, “Well Matt decided for me,” to buy himself time to come up with _something_ passable. He knows Matt like the back of his hand, but all he can come up with when he thinks about him now is the god-awful sound of What’s New Pussycat playing on loop. Damn him and his terrible taste in memes.

            That’s it, though. “It’s based off a dumb meme – he thought it’d be funny. Have you seen the new Bachelor season?” He knows neither of them have. Allura shakes her head. “Well it’s a joke from that. I don’t know how to explain.” All of this sounds entirely fake to him, but Allura hums and nods like she understands.

            “Well, in that case, I don’t want to keep you.”

            Shiro checks the time on his phone and winces. He’s not late, exactly, but he’s lost his head start. “Yeah, I should go.” He stands, walks past the couch, and pauses just before he gets to the door. His stomach is in knots form the stress of possibly showing up late and the knowledge that he’s now blatantly lied to her – with a story she could easily unravel with a single text to Matt, no less. But the warmth of her affection is still seared in his skin. Half turning, he says, “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

            She smiles, beautiful and sweet, even if her eyes are guarded. “Sure. See you later, Shiro.”

            He nods, stiffly, and takes his leave.

            Once he’s settled in the driver seat he takes a quiet moment to himself and wonders just what exactly he’s doing. Her soft smile weighs heavy on his heart, but when he pictures Keith waiting for him at the restaurant, his heart pangs more fiercely. With a sigh Shiro turns the key in the ignition and tells himself he’s making the right choice.

 

            It’s a short drive to the little restaurant Keith picked out for them. Shiro arrives just two minutes shy of being late. It makes him feel sloppy, like he’s already done something wrong before the night’s even really started. But that’s just his nerves or his anxiety, working to sabotage him. Once he recognizes it, it’s fairly easy to tamp it down.

            Inside, Keith is waiting just past the front glass doors, sitting on a bench and toying with his phone when Shiro enters. He quickly tucks it away in a jacket pocket when he spots Shiro and stands. His eyes sweep down the line of Shiro’s buttons in a slow, appraising manner.

            “Hey, sorry I’m late,” Shiro offers him a sheepish smile.

            Keith’s eyes dart up from looking Shiro over. It’s entirely unsubtle, but the way he blinks when he says, “You’re not,” is almost like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

            Shiro’s saved form inevitably embarrassing himself by the hostess, who calls out, “The rest of your party is here now?” to Keith and leads them to a booth when he nods.

            They take a moment to order drinks and Shiro is thankful that Keith chose a simple, standard issue chain restaurant in addition to – or perhaps because of – his insistence on paying his half of the bill. It’s a lot easier to charge twenty dollars to the bank account he shares with Allura than fifty dollars without raising suspicion or inviting awkward questions.

            Shiro takes a beat and forces himself to focus on Keith rather than the echoing thoughts of Allura that always seem to follow him when they hang out.

            “So,” Keith starts after they’ve place their orders, “how’d you escape the Holt Halloween fest?”

            Ah, right. He’s close with Matt’s little sister. It’s a weird enough thought that Shiro keeps forgetting about it. “I uh, I’ve never really been much for them.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “In college I’d help hand out candy and stick around for the Monster Mash and all that, but as soon as Matt decides to crack open his classic horror movies, I’m out.”

            Keith grins in that roguish way that does things to Shiro’s insides, quirking an amused brow. “You’re scared of horror movies?” He says it partly like he doesn’t believe it, and partly like he’s already making plans to use that to his advantage. At the thought of him wrapping a warm arm around Shiro’s shoulders while Shiro buries his face in Keith’s chest, Shiro can’t help but think that wouldn’t be so bad. If only it were just that he was easily frightened.

            He shoots Keith an apologetic smile. “I don’t really have a high tolerance for sudden loud noises and gore, anymore.”

            He doesn’t mean to draw attention to his prosthetic, where he has his arms folded on the table, but he must do something sub-consciously. Keith’s gaze drops down and lingers on it for half a beat. His expression is neutral, more or less, but those few seconds are more than enough to make Shiro feel too big for his skin. Awkward and clumsy and out of place suddenly.

            Keith meets his eyes with a firm earnesty that pulls him back from his thoughts. “I’m sorry, Shiro. I didn’t mean to bring up memories.”

            Shiro smiles a little begrudgingly and scratches at the bridge of his nose, just under his scar. “You didn’t, exactly. It’s not necessarily a secret.” That’s not quite true – he doesn’t exactly announce his prosthetic or mention it to anyone who hasn’t realized yet that he has one. But Keith knows about it now, and thus far he hasn’t treated Shiro any different for it. Shiro takes a deep breath. “I was deployed overseas when I was pretty young. Before college. I spent about a year over there before we ran into an IED. I got caught in the blast,” he gestures with his right hand, “and then I got sent home.”

            Keith’s face is grim. He nods once, respectful. If he wants to say something, he doesn’t show it in his expression. Still, a heavy weight lingers in the air between them.

            “It was nearly a decade ago,” Shiro offers. That seems to put Keith a little more at ease.

            “Is that how you…?” he trails off, rubbing at the bridge of his nose with a glimmer of guilt, like he only realized after he started speaking that it might be a sensitive topic.

            Shiro offers him another smile, more earnest this time, and nods. “Yeah. It’s not the only scar, but um.” His tongue feels heavy, suddenly dry in his mouth as he imagines showing Keith the litany of marks across his chest. “Well, I don’t think I’m really ready to show you the rest of them. Sorry.”

            Keith flushes. It’s endearing, but Shiro feels his ears burn as he realizes how that must have sounded.

            “I’m, um.” Keith lifts his hands like he’s going to gesture as he speaks, but when he loses his words they just flutter there aimlessly. “I’m not – I know we’ve hung out a few times and you slept over, but uh, this is still like a first date. Kind of. Or second at most, but still, it’s not…” He stops midsentence and huffs a long sigh. One of his floundering hands flutters up to weave into his bangs as he dips his head in defeat.

            “It’s not like that,” Shiro promises. Keith’s shoulders sag. Relief overflows from his eyes when he looks up, biting his lip and holding his hair back out of his eyes.

            The way he smiles – shy and embarrassed but amused by it as well – it nearly kills Shiro.

            “Yeah. Thanks for getting that. I know there’s this whole like, third date culture thing, and Lance is always talking about the rules of dating or whatever you want to call it, but I’m not really ready, I guess.”

            This is the first time it’s ever crossed Shiro’s mind that Keith might be a virgin. It’s a bit of a startling thought, somehow, and one he’s quick to chuck as far from his mind as he can the instant he has it.

            “We can just go at our own pace. There’s no expectation or pressure here – we can do whatever we want.”

            Keith nods. He’s looking at Shiro differently now. It’s subtle, but there’s an added softness around his eyes and in the curve of his smile. Quiet emotion that Shiro can’t quite name, but still sends a flutter of butterflies rushing around inside his chest. It brings him back into the moment, narrowing his vision to center on the handsome man across the table who’s looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

            They hold each other’s gaze for a quiet, affectionate moment. Then it’s time for one of them to say something, before the sweetness turns awkward.

            “So, how was your week?” Shiro offers.

            Keith shrugs a shoulder, still smiling. “Nothing crazy. We’ve been doing grapples and escapes maneuvers this week, so Acxa and I have been teaching joint classes and demonstrating together.”

            Shiro smirks over the rim of his glass. “Is it back and forth, or does she lay you out on your ass all day?”

            Keith laughs, full and adorable. Shiro’s heart flips in his chest. “It’s just demonstrations, not full out sparring.”

            “That doesn’t answer my question.”

            Keith gives him a playful dirty look and Shiro chuckles, knowing his answer.

            “A lot of our students are women, so Acxa shows them how to break out of my hold.”

            “I’m sure that’s why.”

            Keith kicks him under the table. Shiro laughs and kicks back, inadvertently starting a war. They aim kicks back and forth until the table rattles and their chaos devolves into a fit of snickers. The waiter gives them a reproachful look for it as he delivers their meals. Shiro has enough decency to shoot him an apologetic look and resolves to tip him high for putting up with them instead of kicking them out then and there.

            “You should spar with me sometime,” Keith says as he cuts his steak. Shiro looks up.

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. You said you were in the military, so you learned forms, I’d imagine.”

            Shiro shifts the fork he’s holding in his right hand. Slowly he says, “I did. I haven’t exactly practiced any of that in a while though.”

            Keith’s expression turns devilish. “Then it’ll be an even easier win for me.”

            Shiro scoffs. “Just because I’m out of practice doesn’t mean I won’t put up a fight. I don’t know if you noticed but I still workout, and I’ve got a lot of muscle mass on you.”

            Keith sweeps his eyes across Shiro’s chest, soft embers burning a low heat. His voice rumbles as he says, “Believe me, I noticed.”

            Heat licks the edges of Shiro’s ears at the same time as the electric thrill shoots down his spine. It’s similar to the competitive energy that sparked up between them at the arcade, something exciting that floods his veins and sharpens his senses. A mix of challenge and arousal, highlighted by the knowledge that Keith must be feeling it too.

            Shiro leans forward, leering at Keith with a challenging smirk. He asks, “You really think you can take me?” in a low voice, like confessing a secret.

            Keith leans up into his space and grins wide, eyes narrow. “I can take anything you throw at me.”

            “I’ll hold you to that.”

            “You better.”

            There’s a part of Shiro that wants to reach across the table, then. To grab Keith by his shirt and drag him into a biting kiss. It’s a heady temptation, but the thought itself reminds him suddenly of where they are. In plain view of dining families and waiting staff, including the waiter they’ve already subjected to their antics enough for one evening.

            It takes a surprising amount of composure to resist saying fuck it and going for the kiss anyway. Shiro feels disappointment heavy in his chest when he settles back in his seat and Keith does the same with a breathy chuckle. There is a time and a place for these things, unfortunately, but Shiro sorely wishes this were one of them.

            Having backed away from keying each other up, they remember their food and take a few quiet minutes to start eating.

            “Speaking of Acxa,” Keith breaks the silence, “you don’t know anything about med school, do you?”

            Shiro’s heart stops. He coughs, mouth bone dry in a single skipped beat, and has to take a long drink to recover. Keith leans forward, alarmed, but Shiro shoots him a thumbs up to signal he isn’t actually choking. Slowly, Keith settles back down, eyes wary.

            Heart racing, Shiro tries to figure out what he could have said that would trigger that question, if anything. He never mentioned Altea Pharmaceuticals for obvious reasons – it would take one Wikipedia rabbit hole session to connect him to Allura, and Shiro has no idea how to tell Keith he’s married, now that they’re together. But what if Keith figured it out himself? He could have read an article somewhere, or googled Shiro’s name. Marriages are public record, anyone can access them.

            Before he tears off into a full panic, Shiro forces himself to take a deep breath and say, “No, no I just have a business degree. Why?” He can feel his pulse in his fingers, as anxious as he is.

            Keith just gives him a loose shrug. “I’ve seen Acxa going over pages in her notebook during her lunchbreak before and she always looks frustrated. It looked like chemistry to me, but I was shit at chem in school, and I think she’s interning at a drug company around here, so it might be some kind of med school chem class. I’ve been kind of asking around to see if anyone knows anything about it so I can try to help her study.”

            Shiro tries not to sigh too obviously. At this rate, the thing that gives away his secret is going to be his own anxiety and the way he jumps at the slightest semblance of the truth. He shrugs his shoulders, hoping it looks more natural than it feels. Keith doesn’t seem to notice his moment of worry.

            “Well, I can’t help you much with that. Did she ask you to help her? She could probably find a tutor at the school if she really needs it.”

            Keith shakes his head. “I don’t think she even knows I noticed. It’s just that we work together, and Lance is always saying I need more local friends, y’know?”

            Shiro nods. “I get that. And if she’s in med school or studying to be a pharmacist, she’s probably too busy for a lot of hangouts.” He remembers Allura’s big tote bag she carried with her everywhere, remembers how she always had at least one text book with her no matter where they went or what they were doing. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat, like he can shake the thought away. “You said she was interning, too? That’s probably a lot to do, school and work and an internship. Especially – do you know where she’s interning?”

            Keith shakes his head and shrugs. “She didn’t say. But there can’t be that many around here, right? If she’s at like, the actual labs.”

            “Yeah. I think there are two in the area.” Hell, she could very well be one of the interns at Altea. It’s a good thing, then, that she and Keith aren’t close.

            Shiro immediately feels like an asshole for being glad Keith doesn’t have close friends.

            “Does your company do business with them?” Keith asks.

            “Oh, no. No, we’re a company that coordinates the more financial side of different nonprofits. Basically they hire us to help them organize and manage behind the scene things. It’s kind of boring to explain, but it’s good work. I’m glad to be part of something that makes an impact like that, even if it’s indirectly.”

            He gradually swells up with pride as he speaks. He genuinely enjoys his work, when it doesn’t involve meeting with certain obnoxiously superstitious geniuses that is, and the knowledge that he’s making a positive difference in the world inspired him to keep going through some of the harder times over the years.

            Keith notices the change in his demeanor. He looks at Shiro with a kind of admiration that fills Shiro with a different wave of pride.

            “That’s awesome. It sounds really rewarding.”

            “It is.” Shiro smiles. “What you do has got to be pretty rewarding too, though. You actually get to see the people you’re affecting, and talk with them, get to know them.”

            Keith smiles and ducks his head just a bit, pink brushing the tops of his cheeks. There’s something like gratitude in his eyes when he says, “Yeah, I do. I like it, teaching people self defense. I get to do something active, which has always been one of my strong suits, and I get to see them progress. It doesn’t pay six figures or anything, but it feels right and it makes me happy.”

            “Well, that’s all you need.”

            Keith grins. “It is. That and a few good friends, at least.” Shiro feels himself melt a little from the soft look Keith gives him as he says that. “That’s part of why I wanted to figure out how to help Acxa. She’s definitely dedicated to her internship, but I don’t know that I’ve ever really seen her talk to anyone other than for teaching. She also seems a lot more worn out lately – midterms I guess.”

            Shiro’s about to agree when he remembers the Olkari article Allura showed him. “You said you didn’t know where she interns?” Keith nods. “Maybe it’s Daibazal. I was, uh, reading a few weeks ago – there was an article talking about how they’re overhauling their whole line, basically.”

            “Yeah? So you think she’s probably busy because she’s helping innovate and research all that stuff?”

            “I’d say it’s pretty likely.”

            It’s a relief at first, to realize Acxa’s exhaustion and Daibazal’s surge of lab work coincide, and that she probably doesn’t work at Altea after all. But as he’s talking, Shiro remembers the purple bottle he noticed on Keith’s sink counter, and the article’s mention that Voltron is preferred to Galra because it’s a much better experience for the patients taking it. Keith had warned him the night he slept over that his medication made him irritable, and Shiro saw it for himself in the early hours before work.

            Spending so many years with Allura certainly taught him the differences between the two companies, and the history behind the competition. Daibazal has cut so many corners and used so many underhanded tactics that it’s no surprise their medicines have side effects nearly as bad as the ailments they’re meant to treat.

            “It’s always weird for me to remember the big pharmacies have their own names. You only see commercials for the drugs, you know? It’s kind of like if Coldstone commercials said, ‘ask your nutritionist if Vanilla is right for you.’”

            Shiro snorts, which makes Keith grin. “I don’t think it’s exactly the same thing, but I get what you mean.” Of course, he knows what Daibazal sells, but he can’t very well say anything about it without inviting questions as to how he knows. But at the same time, he can’t help but wonder if the reason Keith’s side effects are so terrible is because he’s on a Daibazal medication instead of an Altea drug. He doesn’t know the details of it, or why Keith’s doctor recommended Galra instead of Voltron when the studies have shown it’s so much better, but he’d be willing to bet Keith’s health would be better off if he made the switch.

            He’s meddling, but he can’t help himself, knowing what he knows. “I think I read they make things like Galra – that was the big thing the article was talking about anyway.”

            Keith’s brows shoot up. “Really? I take Galra. I didn’t even know they made that. Which I guess proves my point.” They chuckle. “The side effects are a bitch though.”

            Shiro feigns surprise. “Yeah? What’s it do?”

            Keith sighs, shifting in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s supposed to help with sleep paralysis, but I end up with headaches and irritability, stomach aches, mood swings, all kinds of bullshit.” He scowls. Shiro winces in sympathy.

            “Why don’t you try switching to something else?”

            “They don’t make a lot like Galra, and it’s made from something people use to get high, apparently, because it takes a lot more paperwork to get it. Sometimes I’m tempted to just drop it, but there’s a reason I got it prescribed, you know.”

            Shiro nods. “There are a lot of drugs out there with side effects that are just as bad as the thing they’ve supposed to treat. It’s ridiculous.” Keith huffs in agreement. “I did read though that Galra is a sort of knock off brand of another drug, Voltron. So maybe you’d have better luck with that.”

            “Voltron?” Keith asks in a hum. Shiro nods. “I’ll have to remember that. Anything is probably better than this, anyway.”

            The waiter comes by to offer them dessert, and they settle on splitting a large chocolate brownie dish topped off with vanilla ice cream. Their spoons clink softly against one another whenever they both go for a scoop at the same time. Keith smirks and starts doing it on purpose, quickly darting his spoon in front of the bowl as soon as he sees Shiro moving for another scoop. Shiro snorts and leans forward, focusing his attention to watch for the slightest movement of Keith’s hand so he can fight him off. Their dessert sharing turns into a sugary stand off, each hovering their spoon over the table, occasionally darting forward to clash over the half eaten brownie and quickly melting ice cream. Shiro darts his spoon, Keith rushes forward to meet him. Drops of vanilla splatter here and there as they fight.

            When Shiro’s spoon slips under Keith’s attempt to block him, they both stab down into the bowl and spill half its contents on to the table. They stare at the mess for a beat. Then Shiro bursts out laughing.

            “I guess it’s a draw,” he says while Keith scoops up whatever he can of the brownie with his napkin. There’s still a big smear of sticky ice cream across the center of the table.

            “We’ll just have to settle it somewhere else, later on.” Keith flashes him another one of those mischievous looks. Shiro returns it at full force.

            “I’m game for anything.”

            “You do already owe me a sparring match.”

            “Give me a place and time, and I’ll be there.”

            “Oh yeah?” The fire of his eyes catches beautifully when he tilts his head playfully to the side. “You that eager to get thrown on your ass, old man?”

            Shiro scoffs. “I’ll knock some manners into you, you little punk.” Keith snickers. “And for your information, I’m only a few years older than you.”

            “What are you, like, 26?” Shiro winces and Keith catches it. Instantly his grin shifts into something practically predatory. “Don’t tell me you’re already 30.”

            “No!” Shiro can hear the defensiveness in his own voice. He clears his throat and tries again. “No. Not quite. I’m probably only three or four years older than you.”

            “I’m twenty-four,” Keith offers with teasing pride.

            “Three then.”

            “I can’t believe I’m dating a dinosaur.”

            “Don’t sound so scandalized,” Shiro huffs. Keith laughs entirely pleased with himself for getting under Shiro’s skin. The sound of it takes some of the edge of his irritation away despite how much he tries to keep up the annoyed glare he’s shooting Keith.

            Their waiter swings by again with the checks, and Shiro makes sure to leave him a hefty tip.

            “Besides, it’s barely an age gap.” It’s actually the same gap as between him and Allura, only this time Shiro is the older one. “My mothers were almost five years apart.”

            “I’m still going to tease you about it,” Keith says definitively. Shiro fakes exasperation until it makes him laugh again.

            They stay for a little longer, talking about simple things. Keith shares news of the kittens, who are big enough now to wander about and explore and play. It makes them infinitely more difficult to keep track of and to keep out of trouble, but it also increases their cuteness levels exponentially.

            “I should come visit them again soon.” Shiro says as they’re getting up from the booth and moving toward the parking lot.

            Keith gives him another one of his soft smiles, the kind that make Shiro’s chest swell and his stomach flip all at once. The soft skin of his fingertips brush along Shiro’s left palm as he gently takes his hand.

            “I think they’d like that a lot.”

            Outside they kiss each other goodnight beside Keith’s bike. It’s soft and sweet, still sticky with the remnants of the dessert they dueled over, and it makes Shiro long for more the second they part.

            But Keith hasn’t invited him over for the night, and Shiro’s certainly not going to invite himself over. So he steps back and gives Keith the space to mount his bike, saying, “Text me when you get home.”

            Keith nods and pulls his helmet on. “You too. Drive safely.”

            Shiro thinks he sees a heaviness in his eyes before the visor is pulled down. Then with a final wave, Keith pulls out and takes off to the busy streets.

 

            Once he’s made it back and turned the car off, Shiro prays desperately from the driver’s seat that Allura will be asleep inside, or at least locked up in her bedroom and not notice the sound of him opening the front door. He stalls for time by shooting Keith a message to let him know he got back safe, and waits the few minutes it takes Keith to shoot him a response.

            He’s just putting off the inevitable, though, and so after another minute of sitting in the car, he gets out and goes inside.

            The curtains they have in their living room are too thick for him to be able to tell if anyone has the lights on inside, so he crosses his fingers and puts his key in the door.

            As soon as it’s open he hears the soft sound of the tv. The lights are off, but as he steps in he sees Allura highlighted in the glow of the movie she’s been watching. She’s alert, sitting up straight with wide eyes, looking right at him. Shiro freezes.

            The tv isn’t especially loud, but Allura moves to pause the movie before speaking. There’s a tension about her that immediately puts him even more on edge.

            “You startled me,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d be coming home tonight.”

            There’s no time to fish around for a good excuse, so Shiro tries to divert her attention instead. “I was feeling tired. Are you watching scary movies?”

            She stares at him for a moment longer than he likes. It’s analytical, a careful assessment made and then stored away. “Yes. This is A Quiet Place,” she gestures to the tv. “I can turn it off, though, if it will bother you.”

            He shakes his head quickly. The sooner she goes back to watching her movie the sooner she’ll stop thinking about his strange behavior. Besides, he’s heard that true to its name, the movie is fairly quiet.

            “Nah, like I said, I’m tired, so I’m probably just gonna go to bed. My room’s far enough back that I probably won’t even hear you.” He crosses the room as he speaks, moving around the back of the couch and offering her a short wave as he steps toward the hall.

            “Takashi,” she calls. He freezes.

            There’s a long, quiet moment between them.

            Slowly he turns to face her, bracing himself for anything. The first thing he sees is her hand, lifted out toward him. Reaching. She stares at him with an uncertain look in her eyes.

            “Yeah?” His voice is soft and weary. Slowly Allura drops her hand to the back of the couch.

            “Just…Happy Halloween.”

            He nods, the motion stilted and robotic. “Yeah. You too, Allura. Happy Halloween.”

            He turns again and makes it all the way back to his room without hearing her turn the movie back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check back here March 1st for chapter 10! We're almost halfway through this story, can you believe it?!
> 
> You can find me on twitter [@maplmoosemuffin](https://twitter.com/maplmoosemuffin) (take note of the missing e!), where I post updates about this fic and others. I'm also on pillowfort.io at [MapleMooseMuffin](https://www.pillowfort.io/MapleMooseMuffin).
> 
> Please take care and stay safe as this winter rages in the northern hemisphere! And have a wonderful Valentines Day, if you're into that. <3  
> Thank you for reading!


	10. Eyes and Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As November rolls into the city, so does Thace. He and Shiro share a lunch, a secret, and a few thoughts on the nature of people and lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Apologies for the lateness, friends. February was rough, but I finally got this chapter done. 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter. Please forgive any mistakes. 
> 
> Enjoy~

            November comes and brings with it a slew of new projects and meetings. All of Shiro’s clients are in a rush to balance out their yearly statements and get back reports before the holidays and vacations hit, making November one of the biggest crunch months of the year.

            The first week of November kicks off with a flood of emails in Shiro’s inbox and a terse reminder from Veronica that the Slav meeting can’t be put off any further, no matter how badly he wants to avoid it.

            So, bright and early Tuesday morning, Shiro finds himself tightly gripping his pen and trying not to show how hard he’s gritting his teeth in a tiny meeting room down the hall from their usual offices, trapped for hours alongside the rest of his department team. The powerpoint slide up on the wall has far too much detail crammed into it, and the text alternates between four different colors at seemingly random, even though the speaker for Gamara insists he carefully crafted it to be the most efficient and readable slideshow possible. He’s been ‘educating’ them on all of the best practices for organizing and designing the spreadsheets and docs they send to Gamara and he fully expects them to start implementing every one of his _hundreds_ of methods immediately.

            When Shiro risks a glance around the room, however, it seems like Leifsdottir is the only one of them retaining anything Slav has said in the past twenty minutes. Even Shiro has taken to writing personal mantras over and over in his notebook rather than taking actual notes. Kinkade looks like he’s possibly fallen asleep with his eyes open, while Rizavi seems to be melting in her chair.

            “Alright, so now that we’ve covered the basics of my organizational theory, I think it’s time to move on.” Slav turns back to sort through the folder he settled on the side desk at the start of the meeting and begins riffling through.

            Rizavi and Griffin both straighten up, light returning to their eyes, but Shiro knows better. The hope blooming across Rizavi’s face is going to be crushed the moment Slav finds what he’s looking for. Griffin’s eyes dart up to the clock across the wall and he straightens further in his seat, shifting his papers together in preparation to leave, but Shiro catches his gaze and shakes his head. A flash of dread floods Griffin’s face.

            “Now I have examples of what exactly I’m talking about,” Slav says and holds up a pair of printed spreadsheets.

            Veronica doesn’t even bother to hide her groan.

 

            Shiro gives the team a half hour break after the meeting to go find themselves some coffee and try to shake the headache they’re all sporting after listening to Slav’s insanity. Meanwhile Shiro locks himself in his office for some much needed peace and quiet so he won’t snap at someone in his complete frustration. It takes a good fifteen minutes of just sitting in silence before he can even bring himself to pick up his phone.

            Keith sent him a few pictures this morning of the kittens playing with a ribbon toy. It helps a lot, actually, even working a smile out of Shiro as he looks at the tabby dangling upside down off the couch in an attempt to steal the toy from the black kitten. The black one is quickly becoming Shiro’s favorite, with her massive paws and her bright yellow eyes. She’s a lot bigger than her siblings – it’s clear from the way she and the sandy yellow kitten are built that their father was a big, muscly cat, possibly a Maine Coon, though the kittens didn’t inherit his extreme fluff if that’s the case. The other two take more after Red, who is a bit on the smaller side, though that doesn’t stop her from making her presence known wherever she goes. She’s a fiery ball of energy and sass.

            Shiro shoots Keith a text that he’ll see after his shift and scrolls to check his other messages. There isn’t much, beside some activity blinking in a group chat he hasn’t used in a few months. Opening it he sees Allura and Matt are chatting with Thace.

            **Thace** **11:27am** [I’ll be in town Thurs. – Sat. for work if anyone wants to do lunch.]

            **Matt 11:31am** [What? 4 real?? Awesome!]

            **Matt 11:32am** [Where are you stayin dude]

            **Thace 11:33am** [I’m planning on renting a hotel.]

            **Matt 11:35am** [No way dude come stay w/me]

 **Thace 11:38am** [I don’t want to put you out.]

 **Allura 11:39am** [Nonsense. You know you are always welcome in either of our homes.]

 **Matt 11:39am** [Sleepover or bust]

 **Thace 11:42am** [If you insist. I was just trying to plan a little gathering because it’d be a shame to come all the way out and not see anyone.]

 **Allura 11:46am** [Unfortunately I won’t be available Thursday afternoon. I have several meetings to attend.]

 **Thace 11:47am** [Everything alright, Princess?]

 **Matt 11:47am** [Yeah youve been mad busy]

 **Allura 11:51am** [There have been some company developments that Coran, Romelle, and I must address.]

 **Allura 11:55am** [Actually, Thace, I wonder if I might pick your brain Thursday evening?]

 **Matt 11:55am** [oh shit]

 **Matt 11:55am** [Must be something srs if you need a SPY]

 **Thace 11:58am** [I’m not a spy.]

 **Thace 11:58am** [But I am available. I’ll come over for dinner then.]

 **Allura 12:01pm** [Wonderful.]

 **Matt 12:03pm** [Just checked can’t do lunch thursday. Sorry dude!]

 **Matt 12:03pm** [Sleepover’s still on tho!]

Shiro checks his calendar to see if he’s got enough room to squeeze a lunch meeting in on Thursday. Thankfully most of the meetings with their clients will be out of the way by then, excepting a few important ones slotted for Friday morning.

 **Shiro 12:17pm** [I can take a lunch break Thursday]

 **Thace 12:22pm** [Great. Pick a place and send me directions.]

 **Shiro 12:25pm** [You got it.]

 

            Making plans with Thace and seeing Keith at Blaytz’s helps chase away most of the lingering tension Shiro carries with him from the morning’s meeting. Unfortunately, with as much on his plate as there is, Shiro can’t linger for very long after work. He needs to get to bed early and save his strength for the heap of emails and assignments he’ll be sifting through the next morning.

            He can tell it makes Keith a little anxious when he tells him he’s busy at work and needs to go. Keith doesn’t say anything, but he stares at Shiro with alert caution as he tells him, shoulders going stiff and back straightening.

            “I’m serious this time,” Shiro says. He meets Keith’s stare with a heavy earnest look of his own. It’s still a few minutes before Keith visibly takes a deep breath and nods.

            “I’m trusting you.” He says it like a warning. Shiro takes it to heart.

            “I _will_ still text you. I just have to turn in early this week.”

            Some of the tension fades from his shoulders, but not his eyes. Still, he says, “Take care of yourself, Shiro,” as Shiro stands to go and smiles after him as he takes his leave.

           

            At home, Allura has her laptop set up in the living room, though she’s nowhere to be seen when Shiro comes in. He hangs his coat and steps over the couch, peeking at the computer screen to see if she’s going to be staying in the living room for a while longer, or if it’s something she’s likely to move to the bedroom when she sees he’s gotten back.

            Since Halloween night he’s been making himself scarcer. He knows he made a choice when he left for his date with Keith, and while he’s still sorting it out in his heart, it’s overwhelming to be around her for very long. Especially with her reaction to him coming home still hovering in the back of his head.

            He can hear her voice, muffled through the door of the bedroom as he peeks at the screen. She must be on the phone then. On screen she has an email pulled up, with half a response typed and waiting in the drafting box. A quick glance at the signature above tells him it’s to Lotor.

            A flicker of protectiveness has him skimming Lotor’s message, worried he might have turned out just like his father and lashed out at Allura, but it’s rather formal and polite. A regular thank you letter for the most part, the industry standard response to the condolences Allura sent him over his father’s condition. He briefly mentions their old friendship and his regret that it was cut so short, but there’s no reference to the reason they stopped seeing each other. A wise move, in all honesty. Opening that wound back up would be a surefire way to end all contact before it even really started.

            There is a suggestion for the two of them to meet up for dinner sometime. Shiro’s surprised to see that. It’s hard to know if he should really trust it. Lotor could be entirely earnest when he says he wants to catch up, but it could just as easily be some sort of ploy. A friendly pretense that lets him slink closer to an old enemy.

            Shiro steps back from the computer, mulling it over. It is ultimately Allura’s decision, but he can’t help feeling invested by association. Despite the awkwardness and the distance, her happiness is still one of his primary concerns. She might even come to him asking his opinion on the matter later, like she did before sending the first email.

            Through the bedroom door he catches a snippet of her conversation. “…not certain I trust him.”

            Shiro pauses. Is she talking to someone about the email? Coran, maybe, or even Romelle? There’s silence on her end as whoever it is responds, and Shiro finds himself inching closer to the door to better hear when she speaks again.

            “Well I think it’s quite obvious that we’ve grown apart. We are nowhere near as close as we once were, and I’m sure he feels that as well. Perhaps even more so than I do.”

            There’s something about her voice that’s almost regretful. A sad sort of nostalgia that’s given in to the endless flow of time. And still, some part of it seems like longing despite itself. It’s the sound of wanting something and knowing you can’t have it, and it echoes the uncertainty she had on Halloween night, slumped into the couch and at a loss for what to do.

            “I don’t know. I did hope we could rekindle our friendship at least, once this was all said and done. But I don’t know what he wants.”

            She must be talking to Coran. It’s the same confession she made to Shiro, a vulnerable worry that she couldn’t trust the world to give her what she wanted. She wouldn’t have this conversation with just anyone – she hates seeming weak or exposed.

            Whatever Coran tells her has Allura sighing. There’s a thump against the door that makes Shiro jump back, thinking she’s going to open it. But she must only be leaning against the wood because it stays in place.

            Shiro misses part of what she says next as he steps back in to hear. “…about my feelings for him. It seems more that he’s developed feelings of his own.”

            Her feelings for Lotor? And his feelings for her? Since when were feelings involved? The emails were formal, standard and barely personal, so unless Allura’s been talking to Lotor some other way, calling him or meeting up with him privately, when Shiro’s out or when she’s said she has meetings or late shifts…

            It would be easy, actually. For her to go out and start a relationship without Shiro knowing. He’s spent so much time focused on Keith and, more recently, covering his tracks to keep her from finding out. What if she’s been doing the same thing?

            He remembers the stress she was under when she asked him what she should do. When she asked what he thought of her trusting in Lotor, whether he thought she should reach out to him. Was she really asking him if he approved of Lotor in general? Did she want him to encourage her, or maybe to discourage her, to stop her from doing what she wanted when she knew it was wrong?

            The swirl of questions rattle around his mind and freeze his chest, but somewhere underneath it all, he understands. He and Allura were best friends. He can’t be surprised she’s been lonely, too. Lonelier, even. Work _does_ keep her busy, too busy to see even Matt all that often. Honestly, the fact that she even found time for Lotor is impressive.

            “…for him,” she says, softer than before. Shiro has to lean right up against the door to hear anything now. “It’s just…”

            The pause stretches on, trailing into a sigh. At this point, Shiro’s pushing past overhearing and into eavesdropping, so he forces himself to take a step away. He’s already heard far more than she’d want him to, and even if they live together and even if she’s keeping secrets, she deserves privacy in her own home.

            He gets as far as sitting down on his bed in the guest room before it starts to sink in. That he overheard Allura confessing to having an affair. It sounds like the sort of news he should have a visceral reaction to, a revelation he should be outraged or crying over.

            The thing is, he isn’t. He ought to feel distraught, or heartbroken, or at least jealous. That another man could come in and sweep his wife up in romance when he can’t even do that anymore. But all he really feels right now is neutral surprise.

            He isn’t relieved about it, which is maybe a surprise considering he’s seeing someone else behind _her_ back. The fact that she’s with Lotor probably means she wouldn’t be too upset if she found out about Keith. But knowing she wouldn’t mind doesn’t really make him feel much better about what he’s doing, and it doesn’t make him grateful to know she’s doing it too.

            The only thing that would make him feel better about all of this would be if they both stopped playing this game of juggling secrets. But that requires careful planning and a delicate process. It’s not something he can manage right now, with so many other things on his plate.

            They’re going to get a divorce, he reminds himself. Just, not before he finishes his meetings, and not before she finds the leak in the company. There’s no sense in tearing their lives apart if they won’t have stable footing to walk away on.

            There’s a surety to it now, though. Stronger than the eventual inevitability he felt before. If he thinks about it for too long, his stomach rolls and his pulse throbs in his temples. But it’s a sure thing, finalized and sealed when he chose Keith over Allura Halloween night.

            She must feel that, too.

 

            The week moves in a blur of meetings and headaches, so that the hour and a half he takes off for lunch on Thursday is the greatest respite he’s seen in days. Thace meets him right on time at the little café Shiro picked, and before long they’re settled in a corner booth with life giving caffeine and a few sandwich orders on the way.

            “So, how was the drive?” Shiro asks.

            Thace offers half a shrug. “Not terrible. There isn’t so much traffic this time of year. It’s much better than when we come down for Christmas.”

            “I can imagine.”

            Thace makes a grim face. Shiro takes a moment to hide his smile in his mug, and Thace gives him a long look that says he isn’t fooling anyone.

            “You’re in town for a case?” Shiro moves to change the subject.

            Thace gives a gruff nod and reaches to toy with a stray straw wrapper left on the table. “I can’t say much, obviously, but in essence, someone’s business partner might be blowing company funds on city pleasures.”

            “Yikes.”

            “Indeed.” Thace balls the wrapper and tosses it in a little arc to land in the basket of jellies kept at the side for toast.

            “Two points,” Shiro murmurs. Thace flashes him a half smile and retrieves his paper ball.

            “I don’t think it’ll be too hard to catch them in the act, to be honest,” he says. “Subtlety is a word that’s lost on this person.”

            Shiro cocks a brow. “Really? I feel like if you’re going to do something crazy like that, you have to be sneaky about it.”

            “You should be.” Thace tosses his ball. “That doesn’t mean people are, though. In fact, I’d say most people who lie are terrible at it.”

            “They can’t all be bad, Shiro laughs. “If everyone was a bad liar, no one would need to hire PI’s. You’d be out of a job.”

            “Not true.” Thace crosses his arms on the table and leans forward. It draws Shiro in, pulling him to lean forward as well and hear the secret Thace has to tell. “The real trick to getting away with a lie isn’t about what you say, but who you say it to. If someone trusts you, you can tell them almost anything.”

            Shiro has to swallow a bit harder around the truth he hears in that. He licks his lips and cautiously asks, “Why would they believe you if it’s obvious you’re lying? I trust you, for example, but if you told me you were a purple cat, I don’t think I’d believe you.”

            “Maybe so,” Thace nods, “but if I told you I won three hundred bucks last month playing the lottery, you wouldn’t question it.”

            Shiro sits back and frowns. “I mean, sure, but why would you lie to me about _that_?”

            Thace tilts his head, lifting a hand from the table. “Exactly. You trust me, so why would I lie to you?”

            He probably doesn’t mean for that to sting the way it does.

            “But it’s not like you have anything to gain by telling that lie,” Shiro presses on. “You’re not keeping a secret by telling me you won three hundred bucks.”

            “I am if I blew ten bucks on lottery tickets and lost. Or if I made the money selling weed.”

            Shiro raises his brows, not sure what to say to that. Thace laughs.

            “People always assume they have the full picture, especially when they know you well. It takes a keen mind and a well rooted seed of doubt for someone to catch on to a lie from their friends and family.”

            The waitress delivers their meals while Shiro mulls that over. Thace says it so casually, which makes sense considering his line of work, but it still leaves Shiro feeling off about it. If it really was as easy as he says it is to lie to the people you love, then wouldn’t everyone be doing it? Everyone has a secret or two they don’t want anyone to know about, and people go to great lengths to protect those. That can’t all be unnecessary precaution.

            But then he remembers his conversation with Allura last weekend, and the things he overheard on Tuesday. Maybe there is some truth there after all.

            “If it’s so hard to catch an obvious lie,” he asks, leaning back, “then how do you manage?”

            Thace huffs, amused, and gives him a half smile. “Easy. I doubt everything.”

            Shiro laughs. “I guess that’s one way. It seems kind of paranoid, though.”

            Thace shrugs. “You tell me.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I get the feeling you’ve got a lot going on right now. More than you’re telling people.”

            Shiro stares at him, eyes wide. Thace gives him an unimpressed look.

            “Don’t look so surprised,” he says. “It’s my job to read people. You don’t get to be where I am without a sense for these things.”

            There are plenty of things going on that Thace doesn’t know about, of course. The break. Keith. The secret relationship Shiro’s started with him behind Allura’s back, and her own private relationship with Lotor. But which one is the secret that Thace has caught on to? What does Shiro have written so clearly on his face that Thace could spot it in a short twenty minutes?

            “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Thace says, casual and nonchalant. He reaches for his mug and takes a long drink, truly looking for all the world like he isn’t even curious. Maybe it’s a skill he’s gotten from his line of work. A perfect poker face that keeps his thoughts well guarded from other observant people like himself. Or perhaps it’s genuine, and he’s only brought this up to make a point.

            Shiro does have an advantage on Thace, in that he’s known him for a long time. It doesn’t seem like him to take no interest in his friends’ lives. It _is_ in Thace’s personality to respect boundaries, though, so Shiro is sure that if he asked to move on, they would. No hard feelings or prying questions.

            But if he’s honest with himself, getting a fresh perspective on all of this might do him some good. It’s not like he can ask Keith his opinion.

            “You’re right,” Shiro says at length. Thace watches him quietly, giving him his full attention. “It’s been a while since we saw you, but a lot’s happened.”

            The last time he saw Thace and Ulaz was probably at their New Years’ party, back before the distance between him and Allura had really taken root. They spent more time apart than they had at the start of their marriage, but it wasn’t something he was worried about then.

            Haunching his shoulders, Shiro looks for the best way to explain it all. “Allura and I… we started to drift.” If Thace is surprised he does a good job at hiding it. Still, Shiro finds it hard to hold his gaze, and ducks his head to stare inside his mug instead. “We got busy. She got the promotion in March and I was tied up in work with a few new clients. Our schedules were reversed, and she was working weekends. It was hard to find time for us.”

            Thace nods solemnly. There’s an understanding light to his eyes when Shiro glances back up, and a careful set of his jaw. It gives the impression he’s heard this story before. Like it’s a common thing, the classic marital issue. Somehow that makes Shiro feel more like he’s failed.

            “Eventually we had time again, and we tried to spend it together.” He pauses and searches for the right words. It takes him a few minutes, but Thace waits patiently, sipping his coffee and giving Shiro time. “It just. I don’t know.” Shiro shrugs weakly and rubs at the back of his neck. “Something was off. It’s like when you drive someone else’s car. The basics are the same, gas and brake pedals in the right places, but the finer details are just a little off. You try to turn on the headlights and get the wipers instead.”

            It’s not a perfect metaphor, but it’s the best way he can explain the change in their smiles, the awkward weight of her hand in his and the way they ran out of things to talk about over dinner, when before they could stay up past sunrise musing over anything and everything. Movies were quieter, dinner dates felt too long, and they couldn’t agree on how to spend Saturday afternoons.

            There were never arguments. They didn’t fight, or raise their voices, or even storm off to be alone. Mostly they kept finding themselves giving up. If they couldn’t decide between visiting a museum and spending time at the mall, they just stayed in, instead, and did their own things. Eventually they stopped trying to go out at all.

            After a few quiet minutes Thace sets aside his lunch and waits for Shiro to meet his eyes.

            “And how are things now?”

            Shiro takes a deep breath, lets it sit heavy in his chest for a few beats. He trails his gaze off to the side before letting the air ease out in a long sigh.

            “Now…” He tries to smile, but it feels heavy and uncoordinated. “Now we’re taking a break.” Thace gives another understanding nod.

            “I noticed you weren’t wearing your wedding band,” he says after a pause.

            Shiro blinks, but realizes after a moment that he really should have expected as much.

            “Yeah, I uh…” He rubs at his neck again. “It got to be too much.”

            Thace shifts, leaning back and settling more loosely in his seat. His gaze softens into something gentler, somewhere between sympathy and pity. Shiro squares his shoulders and straightens his spine.

            “In my experience,” Thace says before Shiro can tell him he’s alright, “there are two ways a person reacts to this sort of thing.” Thace holds up a finger. “One: They try to hang on to anything that’s left, even if it hurts. The thought of walking away and losing something that made them so happy is too much, so they cling to the vestiges, ignoring the fact that its already changed from the thing that brought them so much happiness. It’s keeping an ex’s number when you know you should delete it, or playing your grandmother’s favorite records even though you hate the songs. You’ve lost your power to keep things exactly as they were, so you hang on tight to whatever’s left.”

            Thace doesn’t give him a heavy or significant look, but Shiro feels called out all the same. It has the same feel as when Matt said he was mourning his marriage. The words are stinging, slicing too quick into Shiro’s chest and leaving him overexposed. He almost wonders if Thace already knew, if Matt told him what was going on and expressed his concerns for Shiro’s well being.

            “Or two.” Thace raises a second finger. “The opposite. They’ll throw everything out, like ripping off a bandaid, and completely block it out of their mind and their heart. They avoid the people involved, ignore any memories they have of the times shared. People lock up relatives’ bedrooms and stop going to favorite date sites. Sometimes they’ll throw themselves at replacements – rebound relationships to help heal the wound.”

            Shiro’s mind flits guiltily to Keith, but he knows that’s not quite the case for them. Keith isn’t a replacement for Allura. He’s his own person, bright and wry and surprisingly shy about some things but brazen about others. If Shiro had met him when he was single, he knows he would have fallen all the same. He isn’t a rebound or a consolation prize, isn’t a cheap balm for Shiro’s bruised ego.

            But maybe that’s what everyone says about their rebound.

            Forced to choose, Shiro wants to think of himself as the first type of person, the one who clings to what’s left and tries to keep it going. It fits with his refusal to face the music and sit Allura down to talk about their failing marriage, after all, and the way he let things stretch so thin between them before Allura even proposed the break in the first place.

            But then, which type is Allura? She’s been so busy he hasn’t had much of a chance to see if she’s still clinging, too. Even when she’s home, she spends most of her time locked in her room, away from him. Maybe that makes her the second kind of person.

            Would that mean Lotor is her rebound?

            The strange, neutral feeling comes back to Shiro as he tries to find some emotional response to that thought. Thace, who’s been quietly watching him mull over everything, sees something in his face and gives Shiro an asking look.

            It’s different to speak about this new feeling of indifference as opposed to his guilty regret over their marriage’s path, but at the same time, he’s already shared so much and he doesn’t know what to do with himself over Allura and Lotor’s relationship. He hesitates for a moment, takes stock of himself and the way the thought of Allura with Lotor makes him feel, and decides it’d be better to work it out out loud than leave it lingering in his mind.

            “I overheard her the other day, on the phone,” he says. Thace straightens and nods for him to go on. “I don’t know if you heard yet but Zarkon is in the hospital, and his son is in charge now. She’s been emailing him, but Tuesday… well.”

            Thace’s expression shifts to something more concerned. He leans forward with a little frown and a tiny pinch to his brow. Shiro can tell he’s already sensed what he’s going to say next.

            “She has feelings for him.”

            A beat, and then Thace asks, “Is she seeing him?” His voice is hard, but quiet. Digging for facts in a clinical, professional way before he shifts to emotional support.

            Shiro slowly nods. “I think so.” He watches Thace sweep his eyes over his face for a long pensive minute. The longer he searches him the more Shiro feels like he’s said more than he should have. Like he’s shared a secret that wasn’t his to share.

            Thace opens his mouth, pauses, then starts again, face shifting as he reaches some decision before asking, “Is that part of your terms? For the break?” Shiro gives him a confused look. “Are you two allowed to branch out? To see other people?”

            “No.” Shiro shakes his head. But even as he says it, he realizes he doesn’t know that for sure. “Well… I mean, we didn’t really set terms. We just…” He shrugs guiltily and sinks in his seat, hunching over the table. “I didn’t think to ask, at the time. It’s not like I was thinking about branching out myself. She was the only person I saw myself with, then. I was focused on fixing things.”

            “And now?” Thace asks. Shiro feels himself blush, ashamed that he’s stopped hoping for a positive end to this situation. Thace nods. “You can’t be upset with her for drifting toward someone else when you’ve both accepted the distance between you.”

            Shiro nods, knows he’s right, but knowing that doesn’t change the way he feels thrown off when he thinks of her with someone else. The one thing that really bothers him about it, besides his indifference, is the fact that she’s been hiding it from him. It isn’t fair of him to feel that way when he’s already dating Keith behind her back, but it’s there.

            “So how do I stop?” he asks quietly.

            Thace’s mouth forms a tight line. “Well,” he sighs, “if it really does bother you, and you think you two can work together to patch things up, talk to her now, before it goes farther. But it sounds to me like some part of you has already let her go.”

            It stings to agree with him, but Shiro nods all the same. Thace reaches his hand across the table and looks at Shiro with kind eyes.

            “It’s natural to not want to let someone go even as they’re leaving. Like I said, it’s one of the ways people react to this kind of situation.” He pats Shiro’s hand gently, familiar and soothing in some way despite the conversation. “What matters now is what you do, or don’t do, with that feeling.”

 

            Shiro mulls it over for the rest of the day, letting Thace’s advice sink into the back of his mind as he sends emails and walks to the bar. Seeing Keith offers a brief respite, but it’s still a busy week and Shiro still needs to turn in early, so before long he’s left alone with his thoughts once more.

            He wishes Allura could talk to him about her wanting to be with Lotor, but it isn’t like he’s told her about Keith, either. She probably doesn’t want him to know, doesn’t want him to realize how far she’s drifted. Doesn’t want to hurt him.

            Shiro remembers what Matt said at the arcade, when he suggested Allura started the break to give Shiro an out from their failing relationship. Maybe it’s true, or maybe she started it to give _herself_ an out. Maybe she’s know from the start things wouldn’t get better.

            He knows he could always sit her down and talk to her about it. Talk about the fact that this break has felt less and less like a short breather before diving back into their marriage, and more and more like a precursor to a divorce neither of them wants to initiate. He could ask her if this has felt as much to her like a game of chicken lately as it has for him, both of them pressing on and waiting to see who will bring forward the papers first.

            But Thace was right when he said Shiro’s been trying to cling to whatever’s left, even as he’s been slowly telling himself that things aren’t going to get better. Even though he knows now that if he had to choose between this lack luster bond with Allura and his budding relationship with Keith, he’d pick the latter. He already did, Halloween night.

            There’s also a part of him that thinks getting a divorce now would be a coward’s way of avoiding having to tell Keith about Allura at all. But another part wonders if that’s just an excuse he’s using to justify his complacency in a roundabout way.

           

            Thace is already talking with Allura in the living room when Shiro comes through the door. The three of them exchange casual greetings, a smile from Allura and a loose wave from Thace as Shiro hangs his coat, but the two of them quickly return to the open black binder Allura has open on the coffee table. Shiro glides past them to the kitchen so he can microwave himself a quick dinner and get out of their space.

            He still catches part of their conversation as he roots around through the freezer, looking for something easy to make. Mostly Allura is catching Thace up to speed on the situation, telling him what files they suspect were copied and who could have had access to them.

            “Obviously it troubles me to imagine anyone betraying me like this. I’ve often visited and spoken with all of the people who work in our labs – I trained our newest intern Acxa myself.”

            Shiro drops his tv dinner on the ground. With a curse he bends to pick it up and misses whatever Allura says next, but none of it could be as disconcerting as the news that Acxa, Keith’s coworker and potential friend, not only works for Altea, but has a personal connection to Allura herself.

            Quickly he slides the tv tray into the microwave and considers that. It winds the intertwining threads between his and Keith’s social circles tighter, inching closer to becoming a Gordian Knot that can’t be solved with a simple swing of the sword. But then again, just because people know each other’s friends doesn’t mean they know everyone in the circle or everything about them. That much was proven at Matt’s birthday party.

            There’s no reason to think that Acxa even knows who he is, let alone who he’s married to or who he’s dating. Even if Keith mentioned him to her, there’s no reason for her to realize what’s going on behind the scenes. All the same, the new knowledge settles heavy in his shoulders beside the other stressful weights that have gathered there and leaves him feeling uneasy and uncertain of the dangerous ground he’s treading across.

            If Allura found out about Keith, things probably wouldn’t change very much. Maybe it would force them both to face the music and get the divorce, but she wouldn’t have any room to be angry with him when she’s doing the same exact thing. But if Keith found out about Allura, it would ruin his relationship with Shiro. Shiro’s been able to explain it away and justify it to himself, but there’s nothing he could really say to make this sound acceptable to someone else’s ears and he knows it.

            In the living room, Allura lets out a long, aggravated sigh, while the microwave finishes Shiro’s dinner.

            “I hate this,” she huffs. It sounds like she’s leaning over the back of the couch, voice thrown oddly toward the ceiling. “I hate being lied to, and more than that, I hate knowing someone has been trying to smuggle this right under my nose. As though I wouldn’t eventually turn around and see what they’ve been doing behind my back.”

            Strong words from a woman who is doing exactly that.

            Shiro practically holds his breath as he quickly carries his dinner back to the guest room. It isn’t until after he hears the sound of the front doors shutting and two sets of feet crunching through the driveway, followed by the start of Thace’s car, that he dares to come back out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter comes April 5th! 
> 
> The plot threads are winding tighter and tighter around Shiro. I'm definitely excited for what's to come.
> 
> Find me on twitter [@maplmoosemuffin](https://twitter.com/maplmoosemuffin) for updates about this fic and others as I work on them. You can also just come chat. ^-^   
> I'm on pillowfort.io too at [MapleMooseMuffin](https://www.pillowfort.io/MapleMooseMuffin).
> 
> Thank you for reading. <3


	11. Out of Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Keith, Shiro experiences things he’s never felt before. Everything feels right and natural, as easy as breathing. But it’s a half truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> If you noticed the chapter count go up, it's because this 7k chapter is only half of what I expected chapter 11 to cover. Whoops! This chapter is also late because I teetered back and forth on where to cut it before realizing that this half was getting too big not to be a standalone. 
> 
> Rated M for some mention of dicks but no sex (yet). I probably could have left it at T, but it'll just go up again within the next few chapters, so... You've been warned? (Future smutty chapters will also have warnings and skipping instructions for those uninterested in the sex scenes <3)
> 
> Here's hoping this chapter was worth the wait! 
> 
> Enjoy~

            Friday night the bar is crowded. The handful of regulars are mixed in with a cloud of sports fans who've come to catch a big game and wind down from the grueling work week. The fans cluster around the tv over the bar, ordering rounds and cheering or booing after every score. They’re probably great for business, but they also force Shiro and Keith to huddle closer together at their usual seats to hear each other over the chatter.

            The first thing Keith calls over the din after Shiro’s ordered a drink is, “You look like hell.” He cocks a brow and grins, somewhere between teasing and impressed with how worn out Shiro seems hunched over the bar like he is. Shiro snorts and mirrors the look back at him.

            "I told you it was going to be a hell week."

            "Those charity people really dragged you through the mud, huh?"

            Shiro laughs and basks in the way it knocks something loose inside him. It's like prying a keystone out of an archway and letting the rest of the bricks sag and give into the weight they've been bearing for so long. Keith flashes him a pleased little grin at the sound, satisfied at having knocked some of the tension out of Shiro’s shoulders.

            "Mostly it's this one nonprofit's rep. You have no idea how hard I've been trying to get out of meetings with him over the past few years."

            Keith's brows shoot up and he laughs, light and breathy. " _Years?_ "

            " _Years_."

            Shiro takes a hearty sip from his bottle to punctuate his point. The hard, dead look he brings to his eyes makes Keith snicker again, crinkling the corners of his own eyes and shaking his head.

            "That sounds like a nightmare," he offers, though he doesn't sound too sympathetic. The teasing light glinting in his eyes makes Shiro smile despite himself.

            "It kind of is. But it's not the end of the world, even if I wish it was whenever I'm trapped in a board room with him. He's just..." He casts around for a polite way to describe Slav, gesturing with his bottle as he thinks, but comes up short. "Insane."

            Keith shifts, cocks his head. "How so?"

            One hand cups the side of his empty glass while the other hangs lightly between them, almost touching Shiro's knee. Shiro can't help tracing the line of Keith's arm with his gaze and wonders if Keith would mind him holding it in this big of a crowd.

            There’s a roar of voices as the favorite team scores again. Shiro has to duck forward to get out of the way of a high five.

            "Well for one thing,” he yells over the noise, “he's a genius. His IQ is probably somewhere in the 200's, but you wouldn't know it if you were guessing off his common sense."

            Keith's brow pinches, though he holds his grin. "He's one of those eccentric types?"

            "That's a way to put it." Better than anything Shiro has to offer, at least. "He comes into our office this week talking about how we need to color the spreadsheets, which, sure, we can do that. That sounds like a normal request right?"

            The furrow of Keith's brow deepens. He squints at Shiro, eyes searching his face like he thinks it's a trick question. Slowly, warily, he says, "Sounds normal to me."

            Shiro whips a finger up. "And that's where he gets you! He says, 'We need to color code the spreadsheets in order to make our accounting department 8.2% more efficient.'" Shiro affects a terrible accent in an attempt to mimic Slav's voice. Keith's composure crumbles in seconds.

            "Wait wait wait," he pushes through his laughter.

            "But then!" Shiro thrusts another finger at him. "You ask, 'Okay, you want us to make profits green and expenditures red?' And he goes, 'Oh, no!'" – Keith loses himself again, air hissing as his laughter rushes out of his lungs – "'We cannot possibly use red! Red is the color of great passion! Red should be for all the prime numbers.'"

            Keith has to grip the bar to keep himself stable. " _Prime?_ Why do _prime_ numbers matter?"

            There are people looking at them now, some curious and amused by the bits of the story they overhear, others irritated with the dramatic and loud manner in which Shiro is telling it. But now that he's finally gotten an outlet for the pent up frustrations Slav's ridiculous rules and demands have built inside him, Shiro feels an almost manic relief driving him on.

            "'Prime numbers are the most mathematically beautiful numbers and extremely satisfying to see. If every prime number is lit up with a passionate color, it will make the accounting process much more encouraging, which leads to harder work and deeper dedication while also visually streamlining the addition process.'"

            Keith stares, eyes blank and mouth parted around a response he can't quite get out. Shiro nods solemnly. It feels a bit like he’s assuring Keith he isn't hallucinating, which is pretty par for the course of talking about Slav with a reasonable human being.

            After a minute or two Keith manages a quiet and emphatic, "What. The fuck?"

            The validation Shiro feels is bliss.

            "He's crazy," he says matter-of-factly. Keith's still wearing that shocked and dumbfounded expression as he nods in agreement. "You can see why it's been a hell week, then."

            Keith puffs out a breath strong enough to flutter his bangs. He leans back as far as he can without bumping into someone else and shakes his head. "Yeah, no shit. Sorry I gave you a hard time about it." He pulls himself back in then and crosses his arms on the counter, looking at Shiro with a heavy earnest expression.

            Shiro softens under his gaze. Reaching over, he gently settles his hand over Keith's and traces the backs of his knuckles. The tender motion is a little out of place in the noisy bar, with people jostling by and chatting about the game and their own work lives, but the significance isn't lost. Keith looks down at Shiro's hand and then shifts to intertwine their fingers. When he looks back up there's a more intimate light in his eyes. It's no less intense.

            "I don't blame you," Shiro says firmly. He gives Keith's hand a short squeeze and gets one back in return. "I cried wolf. That's on me. I'm grateful you were willing to give me another chance."

            Keith straightens. Shiro watches a fire ignite in his eyes. It's a breathtaking sparking blaze that's almost as overwhelming as the way Keith says, " _Of course_ I was."

            It's too raw. Too honest. Too big for a relationship this young. But like an ember in the wind, the passionate fire of Keith's conviction jumps across the space between them and spreads its way through Shiro's chest, igniting an echoing blaze inside him.

            There's something here that he's never experienced before. An infinite depth expanding in the small space between them, rife with possibility and promise, like stars dusting the night sky. It's a feeling of _more_ , undefined but vast and powerful and calling to them, drawing them in with its own force of gravity.

            To think he'd been so careless before and nearly lost it.

            In the space between a heartbeat, an 'I love you' flitters unbidden to the tip of Shiro's tongue. He just barely cages it in behind his teeth and swallows it back down. He’s left dizzy in its wake, coughing against his surprise. This isn't the time or the place for words that heavy, and certainly not for words he's barely tasted yet.

            It's just something in the conviction in Keith's eyes, in the heat of his devotional flame that brought them out before their time.

            The heavy atmosphere Keith's made is not unwelcome, but Shiro doesn't know what to do with it. So instead he tries to bring a lightness back to the space between them.

            "Well, I can promise you I'd much rather hang out with you here than go home any night." He says it with an easy smile, a gentle chuckle in the wings, but the changing light in Keith's eyes makes him wonder if it was perhaps too honest.

            The crowd cheers around them as their team scores the crucial points needed to win. A couple men push between Shiro and Keith to flag down Blaytz for a celebratory round. Shiro leans back to move out of their space but winds up bumping into another patron in the tight space while drink orders are shouted over the bar until Blaytz has to bark back.

            "One at a time, one at a time!"

            Shiro tries to lean around the crowd to catch Keith's attention, but it's no use. Too many people have flowed into the space under the tv. He can't see so much as a strand of silky black hair or a sliver of leather through the mass of hugging arms, waves for drinks, and pats on the back.

            Amidst the clatter of the crowd Keith's voice catches his ear. "...ro. Shiro!"

            He tries to push his way through the people crowding him in against the bar as he calls back Keith's name into the room. It's hard to make any headway without actually leaving the counter.

            "Meet me out front!" Keith calls. His disembodied voice comes out from somewhere near the pool table. He’s already gotten up.

            "Got it!"

            Shiro turns back to tuck a few bills under his bottle for Blaytz and pushes his way through the crowd to the front doors.

            Outside Keith leans against the building, face flushed from the biting November chill. He grins when he sees Shiro step out into the quiet night.

            "That was hectic," Shiro says. He steps into Keith's space and loops an arm around him, pulling him into the fold of his coat. Keith's either too stubborn to garage his bike despite the promise of winter already tangible in the air, or his leather jacket is the thickest thing he owns. Shiro has half a mind to buy him a proper winter coat.

            But then Keith snuggles into his side, humming at the warmth, and a selfish part of Shiro wants to cling to this. The chance to make Keith smile so contently while he protects him from the elements strokes something small and possessive in Shiro's chest.

            "Happens sometimes," Keith says into his side. "It's alright though. It was getting time to leave, anyway."

            Shiro tries not to let his disappointment show. It's not a surprise by any means that Keith would want to go home. It's about that time of night. But if he goes home then Shiro has to go home, either to an empty house or to Allura. He’s not sure which is worse right now.

            Shiro tries not to dwell on it. He squeezes Keith tighter against his side as they walk toward the parking lot.

            "Gotta keep the kittens out of trouble," he says lightly. Keith nods.

            "You'd be amazed at the stuff they get into. They're a menace."

            Shiro snorts and rubs his hand up and down the small of Keith's back.

            "You chose this life," he reminds him. Keith huffs a wordless agreement. "But if you need a break, I could always come over sometime and play with them. Assuming Red doesn't kill me for trying."

            They're beside Keith's bike now. Keith lingers against his side, absorbing as much of Shiro's warmth as he can before he has to face the brutal winds of his drive home. Shiro's never going to complain about the chance to curl his arm around his boyfriend, though.

            They lapse into a small comfortable silence, watching their breaths puff out in little misty clouds.

            "You know," Keith eventually says in a hum, "if you don't want to go home, you don't have to."

            "Closing time already?" Shiro quips, because his heart jumps at the thought that Keith may be implying something but he doesn't want to presume.

            Keith just blinks up at him, a small crease forming between his brows.

            "Ah, you know. 'You don't have to go home but you can't stay here.' It's, it's kind of the cliché bartender thing to say." He pauses to give Keith a chance to react, but he keeps the same mildly put out stare. Shiro rubs at the back of his neck and laughs weakly. "It was a dumb joke."

            Keith snorts. He winds his arm tighter around Shiro's waist and leans up against him, shaking his head. "You're a dork."

            "But I'm your dork," Shiro says reflexively. A rolling wave of contentment surges through his chest when his own words sink in.

            He's Keith's, and Keith is his.

            The world is full of small wonders.

            "Guess you're right," Keith sighs. His tone makes it sound like Shiro is nothing short of a responsibility Keith's resigned himself to, but the smirk he can't keep down is as fond as it is playful. "I chose this life."

            "Sure did," Shiro says. He catches Keith by the arm as he steps out from under Shiro's coat and pulls him back in to kiss his cheeks. Keith laughs arily under his breath and squirms like Shiro's tickled him. Maybe he's just embarrassed, or maybe Shiro's affectionate kisses are making his heart flutter the same way Shiro's is right now.

            "I'm serious, though," Keith manages through his laughter, pulling back to escape Shiro's assault. Shiro lets him be long enough to speak, though he still laces their fingers together to keep Keith close.

            "Come home with me," Keith says.

            Shiro’s heart flips.

            Keith reaches for his other hand, the prosthetic, and interlaces those fingers as well. His smile is radiant. Shiro feels breathless in his wake.

            "Come play with the kittens and watch me burn rice. We can watch a dumb movie or cuddle or something. It'll be relaxing."

            Keith could invite him to watch grass grow or paint dry and Shiro would be enamored with the idea. As it stands, he can't find a reason to say no. Not that he's especially looking, either.

 

            The feeling of wind rushing past and against Shiro's face while he clings to Keith's back is something he doesn't think he'll ever get used to. It's exhilarating even with the harsh sting of icy air biting at his cheeks. He managed to convince Keith to take the helmet again since he'd be taking the full brunt of it as he steers, but Shiro hardly minds the sacrifice anyway. He'd love to spend hours on the back of Keith's bike, tearing through the city streets, or maybe driving out of town. Do a tour of the tri-state area, hitting up all the liminal rest stops on the way and losing themselves to the road and each other's company.

            It sounds a bit like running away together. Somehow that feels romantic.

            The ride to Keith's place is still too short. They pull in and come to a stop well before Shiro's ready for it to end. But then Keith pulls off his helmet and shakes his bangs from his eyes, and Shiro forgets to be disappointed.

            Inside the kittens are playing on the edge of the couch as Keith and Shiro pause to take off their shoes and coats. They're already so much bigger than the last time Shiro met them. It's almost too much to handle, especially when the sandy kitten notices Keith and lets out a squeaky mew. A chorus of high mewling echoes him.

            "Hey guys," Keith laughs. He turns to Shiro and smirks at the starry eyed expression he must have on. "You gonna be alright, big guy?"

            There is absolutely no reason for Shiro to find that question as sexy as he does. His ears burn as he nods.

            Keith pats his arm, firm and friendly. "Go ahead and play with them. I'll start dinner."

            "You sure you don't want help?" Shiro asks automatically. Keith glances at him over his shoulder as he opens the fridge.

            "I thought you said you couldn't cook?"

            Shiro opens his mouth, closes it. Rubs at the back of his neck. "Well, no. But..."

            "Shiro." Keith gives him a fond look and sets margarine on the countertop. "You're the guest."

            "I don't want to burden you."

            "I invited you here."

            Shiro casts around for a counter argument but comes up short. Keith gives him a warm smile and goes back to finding ingredients.

            "I could use your help keeping the kittens out of trouble," he adds inside the freezer. Shiro's not sure if it's just meant to be a consolation prize, but it's hard to turn down the task of entertaining four adorable fluffballs either way.

            "I'm your man," he says dutifully and heads over to the wrestling pile of babies by the coffee table.

            "Yup," Keith pops his p.

            The night flows much the same as Shiro's first time sleeping over here. He introduces himself to the kittens and gets them to chase his fingers as he drums them across the floor. They pounce and tumble after him until Red comes down the hall and catches him. She marches up hissing and spitting so viciously that Shiro flinches back, bracing for a sharp slice of her claws. But she stops short about three feet away, gathering her little feet under her and quietly glaring at him with those sharp brown eyes. 

            Hesitantly, he offers his hand. The cat hisses again and shuffles her feet, eyes wide and fixed on his. He stills and she quiets, just watching him. He inches closer and gets another hiss.

            Slowly but surely, Shiro brings his fingers forward until Red can dip her head and sniff them. Her eyes don't leave his face, but instead of sinking her fangs into Shiro's knuckles like he half expects her to, she darts her little pink tongue out to flick across his index finger.

            It takes a while, but by the time Keith's plating chicken and rice Shiro's gotten Red to let him pet her. She even purrs, a short low rumble that stops as soon as she catches a whiff of the plates Keith carries past them to the table.

            "Looks like you two are getting along," he says with a smile. Shiro grins and scoops up one of the kittens before she can squirm under the couch.

            "She just needed me to be patient, I guess. She doesn't want just anyone knowing how soft and sweet she really is."

            Keith laughs at that and stoops to scritch the little cat between her ears. The purr she gives him is far louder than anything Shiro managed to earn.

            "I guess you're really the perfect dad for her, then," Shiro says as he gets up from the floor. Keith looks up, brow cocked as he watches him step around the couch to take his seat.

            Red patters back to chaperone her kittens.

            "What makes you say that?" Keith asks. He takes his own seat and holds Shiro's gaze even as he reaches for his silverware.

            Shiro gives him a noncommittal shrug. It seemed like a pretty innocuous comment to him. "You two just remind me of each other, is all. You both take time to warm up to strangers. You understand each other."

            Keith's cheeks tinge pink just before he ducks his head and lets his bangs fall over his face. Shiro sets down his fork and leans forward, wondering if he's said something wrong. Maybe Keith's offended at being told he comes off as standoffish?

            But then Keith peers up shyly through his bangs and gives Shiro the tiniest smile. Shiro's heart skips a beat.

            "Can I tell you something crazy?" Keith asks, tone low and conspiratory. Shiro smiles and nods.

            "Yeah, go ahead."

            "Alright." Keith takes a breath and sits up straight, leveling Shiro with an intensely serious look. Underneath his cheeks flush darker as he speaks. "You're the first person I've ever made friends with that I didn't push away at the start."

            Shiro sits back. "Really?"

            He can't help tracking the motion of Keith's lips as he bites his lower lip around that shy smile and nods.

            "Yeah. It's sort of like, we just clicked. Like I already knew."

            Shiro remembers that morning after their first meeting, when he was planning out his day and knew he'd see Keith again, before he even knew his last name.

            "I get that," he says. Keith's smile grows. "It's like you were integrated in my life from the moment I met you."

            The words destiny, fate, and soulmates come to mind as he speaks. They make him dizzy in their sudden rush, just like the three little words he nearly let slip at the bar. It's too much too soon, but it doesn't feel wrong. Just intimidating. Overwhelming.

            There's so much he wants to have with Keith. Far too much for as young as their bond is, but it's hard to care about that when Keith says he feels the same way.

            It all feels too easy. But then again, maybe it is.

            If Keith knew about Allura it wouldn't be so simple.

            Shiro's made promises to himself and to Keith. Promises to be better, to be more honest. He needs to tell Keith. Tonight. Explain the situation and see if Keith will still take him. Before they both get in this too deep.

            Keith reaches across the table and takes Shiro's hand.

            "I like having you here," he says softly. The way he smiles is heartbreaking. "I know you've got a lot going on, but you're always welcome over. If you want."

            Shiro stares at him. That's the sort of thing you say because you think someone needs to hear it. It has been a shit week, but has he really been suffering so obviously?

            Slowly Shiro turns his hand so their palms press together. He gives Keith an apologetic look and runs his thumb over the back of Keith's hand as he speaks.

            "I didn't mean to worry you. I'm sorry."

            Keith squeezes his hand and frowns. It's not an angry look, though. There's a little thoughtful furrow between his brows that makes him look confused or pensive. Concerned, maybe.

            "I know you've got some things going on in your life that you don't want to talk about with me." He speaks slowly, his tone measured as he stares at their hands. Choosing his words carefully. Shiro sits on the edge of his seat and hangs on each word. "It's not like it bothers me. There's stuff about me you don't know, too. I just get the feeling that whatever you were talking to Matt about at the arcade is still going on, and I wanna help somehow."

            He looks up and squeezes Shiro's hand again. "Like I said at Blaytz's. If you don't want to go home, you don't have to. You don't have to tell me why or anything. I just wanna help out."

            His smile is tender and warm and absolutely devastating. Shiro's stomach rolls and threatens to reject the dinner Keith so kindly made him because Keith is being so loving and supportive without even knowing.

            Shiro can't do this to him.

            "Keith," Shiro starts, low and heavy. He drops his gaze to the table but stops himself. If he's going to do this, he should at least look Keith in the eye.

            He takes a deep breath, lifts his head, and starts again. "Keith, I—"

            He's cut off by a shrill ringing from the island counter.

            "Shit." Keith drops his hand and pushes back from the table. "It's probably Lance. Sorry, if I don't answer he's gonna keep calling me over and over again." Keith gives him a deeply apologetic look before getting up and snatching his phone off the counter.

            "Yeah?"

            Shiro drops some of the tension he's been keeping in his shoulders. Of course Lance would call _now_ of all times, but at least it gives him a moment to collect his thoughts and plan his words. Or psych himself out.

            "I'm in the middle of eating dinner," Keith tells Lance. He sends Shiro a look that says he thinks that should be obvious. Shiro forces a smile.

            He should tell him. He repeats it in his head. _I should tell him. He deserves to know. As soon as he gets off the phone, I should tell him._

            "Great," Keith says with much less sarcasm than Shiro would expect. He leans back against the counter and starts to ask, "Do I need to—" but evidently Lance cuts him off. Keith quietly nods as he listens and then looks back to Shiro. "Yeah, let me ask him."

            Covering the phone with one hand Keith calls over to Shiro. "Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

            Allura hasn't said yet that she's going to dinner with Lotor, but Shiro remembers from the email he read when they made plans. She'll be home during the day, will probably want to talk to him about it. He's not sure he can really handle that right now.

            "Not that I can think of."

            "Lance wants to drag Pidge out to destress after her midterms. Hunk and Shay are coming too, so, if you want..."

            Shiro can't help but smile as Keith shuffles his feet and shrugs. Like he's suddenly embarrassed to invite Shiro out on a date despite their intimate conversation just a few minutes ago.

            "Sure," he says. "I'll save you from being the fifth wheel."

            Keith snorts, nods, and turns back to the phone. "We'll be there."

            Lance says something else and then Keith reminds him he was in the middle of something and they say a quick goodbye and hang up. Keith sighs as he sets his phone back on the counter and turns to Shiro once more.

            "Sorry about that." He smiles fondly and runs a hand through his bangs. "Tomorrow will be fun, but he picked the worst time to call."

            He comes back to settle in his seat and takes Shiro's hand again before gently asking, "What were you going to say?"

            There's such a tenderness in the way he's looking at him. It makes Shiro feel like he can't breathe. Every slow stroke of Keith's thumb across his knuckles sends a searing blaze up his arm.

            Shiro tries to steel himself. To choke out the words he desperately needs to say.

            _I'm married._

_I'm married._

_I'm married._

            He's weak.

            "Just, uh. I'm... Thank you. For everything you said. For welcoming me in like this. It means a lot."

            Keith's done so much, put so much trust and faith in Shiro. He can't bring himself to repay that by hurting him now, when they're both so vulnerable.

            There's a divorce coming, he tries to tell himself. Soon enough it won't matter.

            "I'll always be here for you," Keith swears. He lifts Shiro's hand to intertwine their fingers and smiles wide and earnest. "Whenever you need me."

            "Thank you," is the most Shiro can manage.

            They finish their dinner peacefully. The kittens tumble about a bit more until Red decides they ought to have their dinners too. Keith talks about his week and reaching out to Acxa about her tests over lunch. He looks pleased with himself as he tells Shiro about doing flash card drills over cafe sandwiches. Shiro's so proud of him.

            After dinner Shiro gathers up all the dishes as penance for keeping secrets. Keith doesn't ask any questions about it, though he does swing past and catch Shiro in a surprise kiss just as he finishes.

            It's good. More than Shiro deserves, but he's working on blocking those thoughts out as Keith runs his hands down his chest and catches his thumbs in the belt loops. He lets his hands hang from them, loose and easy while still keeping Shiro exactly where he wants him. Shiro goes warm at the thought.

            "I like having you over," Keith mumbles against his lips. Shiro runs his hands over his sides and around his back to pull him closer in the small space of the kitchen.

            "Is that so?"

            "Mhm," Keith hums and nips Shiro's bottom lip. Shiro gives a little gasp at the sharpness of it, but Keith's already running his tongue over the spot he just abused. "It's nice to spend time together," he says.

            Shiro holds back a laugh and arcs a brow. "Is that what you're calling this?"

            Keith pulls back and shrugs, mouth quirking up at one side. "We can do something else, if you want."

            Shiro does laugh then. It only makes Keith look more smug.

            "I didn't say I was complaining," Shiro says and steps back into Keith's space. It's hard not to with as tight as the counters are in here, anyway. Shiro glances at the island to his left and the fridge to his right and hums. "Maybe we should move, though."

            He only means to the couch, but Keith flushes immediately. Shiro's eyes widen.

            "I wasn't—"

            "Do you want to—"

            They both stop and just stare at each other.

            "I only want to do what you're comfortable with," Shiro says gently. He takes each of Keith's hands and raises them one after the other to press soft kisses to the backs of each. It makes Keith smile, softer and gentler than his teasing smirk from a moment ago.

            Keith takes a long, slow breath in and plays with Shiro's fingers as he finds his words.

            "I'm okay with just making out in my room. Laying down. If you want."

            Shiro smiles warmly and swings their hands back and forth.

            "I'd love to."

            Keith nods once, then turns and tugs Shiro along. "Let's go, then," he says eager and cheerful over his shoulder. Shiro laughs and lets himself be led down the hall.

            Laying with Keith in his bed is nice. The bed is soft beneath them, Keith's sheets smell of the same detergent Shiro's caught before when they've hugged or curled up close against the wind. The way Keith's hair fans out over his pillow and down his neck when he lays on his side softens him, and Shiro can't help running his hand up his side once they've settled in.

            Keith closes his eyes and smiles, like a cat content in a sunspot. He looks so soft and relaxed. Shiro dips his head and presses a kiss right to the tip of his nose. He gets to watch up close as Keith's eyes flutter open.

            "You're beautiful," slips from Shiro's tongue. Keith lets out a breathy laugh and tucks loose hair behind his ear. When he looks at Shiro his eyes shine.

            He lifts a hand and sets it gently on Shiro's cheek, running his thumb across the skin. Every time he skims the edges of the scar Shiro's eyes flutter closed.

            "Can I kiss you?" Keith whispers. Shiro nuzzles into his hand and nods.

            Keith presses forward gentle and firm. His fingertips hook around the edge of Shiro's jaw as he leans in and make Shiro shudder. Then there's heat. The slick glide of Keith's lips against his, a steady rhythm that quickly swallows Shiro's thoughts. It's so easy to give in to the feel of it. To let Keith lead him. Shifting his hand to get Shiro at the angle he wants. Pulling away just to come back in for another. Shiro winds his arm around Keith's back and lets him keep shifting closer until they're chest to chest, legs tangling together. And still Keith keeps pressing forward, like he can get any closer.

            Shiro runs his tongue along Keith's lower lip at the same time that Keith drops his hand down to Shiro's shoulder. Suddenly he pushes him back toward the bed. They both break away and pause.

            "Uh, sorry," Keith coughs and ducks his head. He curls his hand in a loose fist in Shiro's shirt and peeks up through his bangs, flushing pink.

            Shiro tentatively runs his hand down Keith's back, uncertain if it'll be a comforting or overwhelming gesture. Keith seems to ease into it, though, so he keeps going.

            "It's alright. I'm sorry if I pushed too far." He has to remember that Keith is shy about these kinds of things. He needs a slower pace than Shiro's used to.

            Keith leans back, pressing into Shiro's hand where he's found a small knot of tension to work through even as he looks up in confusion. "You?"

            Shiro frowns back at him. His hand pauses while he searches Keith's face. "...Yeah, I... Well, I was trying to deepen the kiss and then you pushed me back."

            Keith's eyes widen and he jolts forward suddenly. Shiro jumps and catches him around the shoulders, heart and mind racing before he realizes Keith's biting back laughter.

            "Keith?"

            A few snickers slip out as Keith shakes his head, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. It doesn't hide the way he's grinning, eyes lighting up with humor. Shiro smiles too and furrows his brow. He’s completely lost here.

            "What's so funny?"

            Keith waits until he's swallowed down his laughter.

            "I wasn't trying to push you away," he says after a moment.

            "Oh," Shiro says. He feels a little stupid. "Then why...?"

            Keith haunches his shoulders and turns his head to stare across the room, avoiding Shiro's eyes. Slowly Shiro runs his hand along his back again.

            "I was gonna lay on you," he says.

            Shiro's heart picks up. "Oh. Yeah?"

            Keith turns back to him then and searches Shiro's face for a moment. When he doesn't find what he's looking for he shifts, letting go of Shiro's shirt to settle his hand lightly against his chest.

            "You don't think that's too fast?"

            Shiro shrugs. "It's only too fast if you think it is."

            Keith frowns at him. "Your opinion matters too, Shiro."

            "Well, yeah. That's not what I meant." Keith eases a little under his hand then and Shiro goes back to working on that knot of stiff muscle. "What I'm saying is I'd be more than happy with you laying on me while we make out. If you want."

            Keith holds his gaze for a few beats. When Shiro doesn't take it back he nods and reaches over to gently push Shiro onto his back. Shiro goes easily, wrapping his arm around Keith's waist to tug him along.

            They take a moment to shift around, finding the most comfortable places for elbows and knees as their legs tangle together and Keith pulls himself up to be on eye level with Shiro. Then Shiro wraps his hands around Keith's waist and Keith runs his hands through the short hairs of Shiro's undercut, and they fall back into place.

            Having Keith's weight bearing down on him, solid and real between Shiro's hands, is satisfying to the same primal energy in his bones that takes such pleasure in protecting him from the cold. Keith is _his_. Warm and present and guarded from the world by the arms Shiro's wrapped around him. And with the heavy weight of Keith holding him in place, Shiro feels safe and secure, too.

            It barely takes a moment for them to fall back into the same rhythm as before. The slick press and pull of their kisses is hypnotic, drawing Shiro deeper and deeper into this moment until the world beyond Keith's sheets falls away to white noise.

            Keith angles his head to get deeper and Shiro opens up for him. Their tongues slide together, sending shivers of pleasure dancing down their spines. Keith groans low in his throat. He shifts up to tangle his fingers in the longer strands of Shiro's hair. Shiro gasps as Keith uses that grip to direct the kiss, and at the press of something firm against his thigh.

            Is Keith...?

            Shiro groans at the thought and tugs Keith in for a harder kiss. He makes a surprised sound but comes back at Shiro with even more ferocity. In moments he has Shiro burning up from the inside out.

            He knows Keith doesn't want this to go much farther than they've taken it, and he's fine with that, really. But the increasingly hard press of Keith's growing erection against Shiro's thigh is making him dizzy. His mind races to picture a whole manner of things that make Shiro's pants feel a little too tight themselves.

            When Keith breaks for air he's flushed deep pink. Shiro's grip on his hips tightens reflexively.

            That snaps Keith back to reality.

            "Ah, let me up," he rushes out and pushes back suddenly. Shiro lets him go and drags himself up on his elbows when Keith pulls all the way off him. He settles back on his haunches at the end of the bed.

            It gives Shiro a good view of the tent in his jeans.

            He snaps his eyes to Keith's face.

            "Are you alright, Keith?"

            Keith looks apprehensive. He almost seems frozen in place, staring at Shiro from the opposite side of the bed.

            In the heavy quiet that follows Shiro wonders if he should have stopped things as soon as he felt Keith against his leg.

            "Sorry," Keith breathes out.

            Shiro chuckles before he can stop himself. Sorry for what? Getting turned on? "You don't have to be," he says instead.

            "It's embarrassing!" Keith almost sounds angry. It catches Shiro off guard and has him backtracking to try and soothe Keith's hurt feelings. But as soon as it came, the fire dies and Keith pulls back again. "Shit, sorry. I'm sorry, Shiro, I didn't mean to yell."

            The guilt on his face makes Shiro wince in sympathy. Slowly Shiro shifts, watching Keith for any signs to stop. Without any he comes up to sit cross-legged in front of Keith.

            "For what it's worth," he says gently, "I don't think it's weird. If anything, I'm flattered."

            Keith huffs and crosses his arms. "Don't be." But his shoulders settle just a little, so Shiro takes it as a sign to keep going.

            "No? So you're saying I'm not the amazing kisser I thought I was?"

            Keith huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, like he's trying to hide it the same way he fails to bite back his smile.

            "It's a side effect," he says.

            "Of kissing me?" Shiro grins.

            "Of Galra."

            That sobers Shiro instantly.

            He breathes Keith's name, reaching out to settle a hand on his knee. Keith looks down at the hand, then up to Shiro's face. His eyes widen.

            "No, no," he says dropping his arms and reaching out to set a hand on Shiro's arm. "It's not like anything crazy. I just get..."

            His eyes shift over Shiro's shoulder and he sighs.

            "High strung?" Shiro offers.

            "Horny," Keith says. He turns back to Shiro with a grim expression. Shiro tries not to snicker at Keith’s bluntness. “That’s kind of why I made you crash on the couch last time.”

            He was worried he’d have an inappropriate reaction. Looking at it that way, it makes a lot of sense in hindsight. It’s always when they talk about Galra that Keith shies away from spending the night together.

            "Well, are you okay now that this happened?" Shiro asks.

            Keith snorts. "It's not like I haven't been with someone before. I just didn't want this to go that far tonight."

            He could have fooled Shiro there, about having experience. But it's comforting to know Keith isn't as quite as mortified as he thought.

            "We can stop here for tonight," Shiro offers, giving Keith's knee a gentle squeeze. He glances over at the nightstand where Keith keeps an alarm clock resting next to the base of a lamp. "Besides, it's getting late. We're meeting your friends tomorrow, and we still need to make up the couch bed."

            "Actually," Keith starts and stops when Shiro turns back to him. He fidgets for a moment with a fold in the sheet. "I was thinking, if you wanted, you could sleep in here. With me. Uh, _next_ to me, I mean. Just like, cuddle."

            Since he’s already explained himself, there’s no reason to be worried about embarrassing himself with side effects he can’t control. Might as well enjoy each other’s company then.

            Shiro grins wide.

            "I'd love to."

 

            Keith gives Shiro a pair of pajama pants he accidentally stole from Hunk years ago and excuses himself to take a quick shower. Shiro doesn't let himself read too much into that as he ties the drawstrings of the pants to keep them on his waist. Then he detaches his prosthetic and settles it safely on the nightstand before leaving the room to check up on the kittens.

            He finds them curled in a fluffy pile on the couch, wreathed around Red who's purring loudly and idly grooming the smallest one as she sleeps. It takes a monumental amount of self-restraint not to coo at the precious scene, but Shiro doesn't want to wake them up. Instead he gently settles himself in the armchair across from the couch and exchanges a look of acknowledgement with Red. The mama cat keeps her eyes trained on Shiro, but she doesn't stop purring or move to chase him off. He takes that as a win.

            When Keith comes out, fresh from the shower with damp hair and fresh clothes, Shiro stands and lets him lead him back to bed.

            There’s a twinge of anxiety in his chest, knowing his amputation is obvious now. But Keith doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t focus on it, and it’s not like Shiro can sleep with the prosthetic on, anyway.

            The way Keith runs his hands up and down Shiro’s sides, seemingly unbothered by and hardly noticing the difference in Shiro’s right side settles his nerves. They trade gentle nuzzles and soft forehead kisses and then settle in together.

            Just after he clicks off the lamp, Keith turns to Shiro and asks, "Are you a little spoon or a big spoon?"

            Shiro has to think about it. "I don't know. I've never been asked that before. I think people usually just assume I'm the big spoon. It's not like I can really be spooned, anyway, as big as I am."

            "Bullshit," Keith says immediately. Shiro laughs.

            "Are you saying you're going to spoon me?"

            "You're damn right I am."

            Shiro wishes he could make out the adorable expression Keith must have on his face right now. He can just hear the fire and determination he's sure must be burning in those beautiful eyes. He nuzzles closer, feeling his way toward Keith's face so he can press a sweet kiss to his lips.

            "I'm serious," Keith tells him when he pulls back. Shiro snickers.

            "Aren't you a little bit too small to spoon me?"

            "Turn over, Shiro." Keith playfully nips his nose for emphasis, and Shiro laughs harder.

            "Yes sir!"

            As soon as he's turned around, Keith is on him. He weaves his arms and legs around Shiro's torso and waist until he's practically clinging to him. Shiro feels so warm and protected with him wrapped so tightly around him, more than he's ever felt sharing a bed with someone before.

            "Oh," he mumbles. Keith huffs near his ear.

            "Told you I could."

            "I guess you did." Shiro settles back against him. Keith leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek.

            "You're a little spoon," he tells Shiro.

            This feels too good to argue. "Apparently so."

            Keith nuzzles into the bend of Shiro's shoulder and falls quiet. Out like a light. Adorable.

            It seems like only a few heartbeats before Shiro feels himself drifting off as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be away visiting dear friends through the last days of April and the first days of May, so I'm not totally sure when next chapter will go up. I'll do my best to have it up by or before May 10.
> 
> I'd also like to take a moment to say I've made some minor updates to chapter five. A very kind commentor pointed out to me that the way I explained Keith understanding Shiro's cultural reasons for going by Shiro instead of Takashi came across as a bit offensive. I'm very grateful to have the mistake pointed out, and I've gone back to hopefully fix the scene. The only plot repercussions this has is Shiro knows explicitly that Keith is from Texas, but hopefully the scene reads more natural and logical now.
> 
> While I don't condone pointing out minor errors like typos in a fic, I'm greatly appreciative when people let me know something I've said is offensive or inappropriate. If any of you dear readers see those sort of issues throughout my works, please don't hesitate to let me know. I'm still learning, and I'm thankful for your patience. <3
> 
> For more news on this fic and others, you can find me on twitter [@maplmoosemuffin](https://twitter.com/maplmoosemuffin). I may be asking for prompts/ficlet suggestions there later this month to have something to do during my flights.  
> I'm also on pillowfort as [MapleMooseMuffin](https://www.pillowfort.io/MapleMooseMuffin).
> 
> Have a wonderful Easter if you celebrate. Our backyard tree is already covered in blossoms. ^-^


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